


D-Agency Hotel and Casino

by screamingsongbird16



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Casino AU, Crime AU, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 154,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingsongbird16/pseuds/screamingsongbird16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuki is the owner of D-Agency Hotel and Casino, the front for the biggest crime syndicate in Vegas.  Miyoshi's his adoptive son and heir apparent.  Kaminaga's a blackjack dealer and rumored hitman.  Tazaki, a stage magician and a thief.  Odagiri is the head of security, and D-Agency's arms supplier.  Fukumoto is a bar tender and an enforcer.  Amari is a baccarat dealer by night, and a conman by day.  Jitsui heads the casino's surveillance team when he's not hacking.  And Hatano is allegedly a bouncer, but in actuality a messenger.  When messages need to be delivered with brass knuckles.  </p>
<p>And Sakuma is the hapless undercover cop who's managed to infiltrate D-Agency, determined to bring their criminal empire down.  It's just too bad for him that all of them already know this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to D-Agency Hotel and Casino

            His first day on the job and Sakuma already knew he was in over his head.  Working in a casino was nothing like he’d expected.  It was almost like when he’d stepped out of the desert heat and into D-Agency Hotel and Casino he’d crossed the threshold into a different world.

            It was cool inside, and dim, and hazy.  Old timey music played from hidden speakers.  It blended with the bell-like chiming of slot machines in the background, and the clink of poker chips.  The wait staff was all dressed in period clothing.  Late 1930s, early 1940s attire.  And tobacco smoke hung in the air, in bluish-white wisps.  All the décor matched the theme, from the carpets, to the wallpaper, to the black and white photographs hanging at regular intervals.  It truly was like stepping back in time.

            And if that was all it was, Sakuma would have been okay with it.  But what truly made D-Agency so surreal for him was the knowledge that he was surrounded by so many extremely dangerous criminals.  And not only that, but he was working with them!

            It seemed like he recognized the faces of every employee he passed from the casefiles he’d been pouring over for the past few weeks.  Kaminaga, the lowly blackjack table dealer, who’d paged Sakuma to take care of an unruly guest, was actually a suspected hitman.  The handsome stage magician Tazaki, who he’d seen walking toward the smoking lounge with a woman on one arm and a pigeon on the other, was a career criminal, suspected of monumental heists.  Even the kindly bartender Fukumoto, who’d given him a free gin and tonic when he saw Sakuma’s nerves were so on edge, was a rumored enforcer for Vegas’s biggest crime syndicate. 

            He had known coming into this that he’d be crossing paths with some of these men.  But he hadn’t really expected to see them so soon, and them acting so casually.  There had been nothing in Kaminaga’s mannerisms to suggest that he was more than capable of killing someone in cold blood when he was politely trying to talk the unruly guest down, before Sakuma escorted him off the premises.  And there had been no hints of malice from any of the others he’d seen either.  If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought they were simply young men of the world, working their way through life, and enjoying it as they did.  It was a lot to swallow, knowing that they had a very dark side to them.  And that he had come here to betray them all, and bring their criminal organization crashing down.

            “Sakuma-san.  I have a task for you,” said Odagiri, through Sakuma’s ear wire.

            “Sakuma here.  I’m listening,” Sakuma confirmed, stepping off to the side of the hallway so that he could concentrate.

            Odagiri was the head of floor security and Sakuma’s direct supervisor.  When he wasn’t supplying D-Agency’s syndicate with weapons.  If Sakuma hadn’t known about that particular hobby of his, he would have thought that he and Odagiri could have become friends.  Odagiri was similar to him in a lot of ways.  Both were former Japanese military.  And both had serious, responsible personalities.  It was just too bad that Odagiri’s responsibilities included helping out with organized crime.

            “Please go to the control room.  Your task will be explained there.”

            “Understood.” 

            Conversations through their wires were kept short.  Odagiri had explained that, though their channels should be secure, that should never be taken for granted.  It wasn’t impossible that someone could hack into their coms.  So, thus far all his orders given through his earpiece had been orders to report to another position, to receive his real orders in person.  And barring emergencies or unexpected situations that needed to be dealt with post haste that was how all of his orders would be. 

            Sakuma started to step away from wall, where he’d stood to be out of the way of anyone passing by, but then stopped as something dawned on him.

            “Odagiri, sir . . . where is the control room?”

            “Take the grand staircase from the main lobby to the third floor –” Odagiri started to explain, but then there was a slight crackle of static and another voice came onto the line.

            “Actually, Amari is on his way here now too,” said the soft spoken voice.  “I’ll have him collect you and bring you along.”

            “Thank you,” Sakuma told the new speaker.  “I’m currently outside the second floor –”

            “Please don’t trouble yourself.  I know where you are, Sakuma-san,” said the unidentified speaker.  “Forgive me, that probably sounded creepy and rude.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Jitsui.  I’ll meet you properly once you arrive in the control room.”

            “Er- right.”  Sakuma wasn’t quite sure how to respond.  Mentally he was going over what he knew about Jitsui.  When he was fresh out of college he had snagged up the coveted job of head of casino surveillance.  Behind the scenes, however, he was a scarily dangerous hacker.  Or at least he was suspected of being one.  But he was too good for it to be proven.  One thing was for certain.  He didn’t need this job.  His tax records showed him to be a multi-millionaire in his own right.  Cleaning out billionaires’ bank accounts was a profitable business.

            “Sakuma?  Are you Sakuma?”

            He turned and found himself staring into the smiling face of another career criminal.  Amari.  Once a freelance conman.  Now a D-Agency conman.  And a baccarat dealer.

            “Yes,” said Sakuma.  “I’m Sakuma.  You’re Amari?”

            Amari confirmed what he already knew.  “I am.  Jitsui just sent me a message, asking me to bring you to the control room.  Shall we go?”

            “After you,” said Sakuma politely.

            So he followed Amari, who got him to the control room faster, by using a shortcut through several service halls that they had to scan their casino IDs to get through. 

            “Any ideas what this is about?” asked Amari, once one of the locked doors shut behind them and they were walking in relative privacy through the hall.

            “No, I’m afraid,” said Sakuma.  “I just started here today, so you’d know better than I would.”

            “Hm.  Well, if I had to take a guess, I’d say we’ve got a few whales who want to play.”

            “Er, what?”

            “Ah, it’s casino terminology.  A whale, a high roller.  A very wealthy guest who you do not say no to.  They do things like watch James Bond and then get it in their head that they want to play baccarat, and I happen to be a baccarat dealer.”  Amari gave him a disarming smile.  “During high stakes games like those, millions of dollars are won and lost in a single evening, in a single room.  We tighten up security for them.  Though it’s not really usual to use new security guards for these games.  So, chances are high that you’ll be standing outside, guarding the doors rather than being inside.  Sorry.”

            Sakuma was a bit disappointed by this news.  It would have been interesting to see a high stakes game like that.  But he hadn’t really expected to get the chance to.  “No apologies necessary.”

            They arrived at the control room minutes later.  It was Sakuma’s first time there.  In D-Agency Casino, security and surveillance were handled by separate teams.  Surveillance monitored all footage recorded within the casino and isolated threats, cheaters, and the like.  Then they contacted security and had them deal with it.  Sakuma was glad for this system, though his superiors back in the police force were not.  He would have been bored out of his mind if he had to spend hours every day watching people on a hundred different computer screens.  Even if that would have made it easier to isolate the movements of the known criminals in the casino, and try to pin down any patterns.

            Waiting for them in the control room, in front of a wall that was literally made up of computer screens showing the security feeds, was Jitsui.  Sakuma nearly did a double take when he saw him.  Because Jitsui looked exactly the way he did in the pictures in his profile.  Very young.  Sakuma had assumed that the pictures they had of him were several years old, and that was the best they’d been able to get of him.  But no.  It turned out those pictures were recent.  Jitsui still looked like a teenager.

            And sitting beside him was someone who Sakuma knew to be an actual teenager, despite him having documents that said otherwise.  Hatano.  A relative newcomer to D-Agency, and one of the few people Sakuma was investigating who wasn’t suspected of a page long list of crimes.  Not that Sakuma expected that to last.  He may have been young, but from what Sakuma had read and seen, Hatano just might be the most dangerous of them all.  D-Agency owner Yuuki was already putting him to work as an enforcer for the shadier side of the business.  Something Sakuma knew he would excel at, given what he knew about the kid’s background.  Sakuma would have kept an extra eye out for Hatano even if Alain, his old friend from Interpol hadn’t asked him for whatever information he could bring back about the boy.

            “Hello, Sakuma-san,” said Jitsui, standing up to greet him.  “I’m Jitsui.  Head of casino surveillance.  This is Hatano.  He’s security, like you.  And I saw you and Amari making your own introductions.”

            “Yes,” said Sakuma.  “It’s nice to meet you though.  Both of you.”

            Hatano didn’t respond.  He just watched Sakuma through heavy lidded eyes with something that strongly looked like suspicion.

            “Yes,” said Jitsui.  “It’s nice to meet you.  I hope we get along well.”

            He spoke English with barely any accent, but used Japanese honorifics, much like Odagiri did.  Sakuma assumed it was done out of politeness, and as a nod to the Japanese roots they all shared. 

            “So what’s this all about, Jitsui?” asked Amari.  “Have we got ourselves some whales swimming into port?”

            Jitsui gave a smile that had a twang of bitterness to it.  “Yes.  It’s that bastard piece of shit Oikawa.”

            Amari’s expression soured.  “Oh.  So that’s why Hatano’s caged up here with you.”

            Hatano gave Amari a sharp look.  So did Jitsui.  Sakuma kept his expression carefully casual, like he didn’t know why that was the wrong thing to say around Hatano, but no one was looking at him anyway.

            Amari quickly realized his mistake and raised both hands in surrender.  “Sorry.  Poor choice of words.  I’ll rephrase.  His presence is why Hatano is here with you?”

            “Orders from Yuuki-san himself,” said Hatano grimly.

            Sakuma mentally perked up at the mention of the casino’s owner, and rumored crime syndicate leader.  If he was giving orders directly then something big must be going down.  He’d need to report every detail of it back to his supervisors.

            “We’re to stay here until Oikawa leaves,” said Jitsui.  Then he turned to Sakuma.  “Oikawa is a high roller with barely legal tastes in companions.  If you know what I mean.”

            It took Sakuma several seconds to work it out.  And he mainly got it by the context of the previous conversation.  Disgust clouded his face and voice when he spoke.  “He’s a pedophile?”

            “More or less,” said Amari.

            “Probably more,” Hatano put in.

            “His tastes run toward young male Asians,” Jitsui said matter of factly.  “All the ones he’s hooked up with at this casino have been of legal age.  Believe me, we’ve checked their ages thoroughly, and they all check out.  But there are rumors that he likes them younger when he can get them.  And rumors that willingness is not a factor he particularly cares about.”

            Sakuma felt bile rising in the back of his throat.  “And you let him into the casino?”

            “He’s never been convicted, so in the eyes of the law he’s innocent,” said Jitsui.

            “And though we have the right to deny service to anyone, for any reason, it’s not like we can do so lightly,” said Amari.  “Especially when it’s someone as rich and powerful as Oikawa.”

            Sakuma understood.  To an extent.  But he didn’t like it.  Still, he knew all too well how often political reasoning kept people from doing the right thing.  He’d seen it too many times in his years on the force.

            “We do take precautions,” said Amari.  “The few members of our staff who fit his type are kept off the floor.  And if there are any casino guests who also match his preferences, we keep them under heavier than normal surveillance too.”

            “And Oikawa and all members of his party are watched at all times too,” said Jitsui.  “Naturally.”

            “So you want me to help keep an eye on him?” asked Sakuma.  “Or on one of the young men who fit his profile?”

            Hatano snickered, then smirked when Sakuma looked at him.  “You should be so lucky.”

            “My apologies, Sakuma-san,” said Jitsui, “But you’re too new for that.  Right now Oikawa and his entourage all know their way around the casino better than you.  So I’m afraid you’re not suited for that task yet.  And we have others who know the building already watching out for the guests who suite Oikawa’s tastes.”

            Sakuma nodded, and did his best not to look offended.  He understood their logic.  “What do you require of me?”

            Amari was the one to answer, as both Hatano and Jitsui took on sulky expressions.  “Sorry.  It’s a bit embarrassing for everyone involved, but essentially, you’re here to babysit our boys here.”

            “I . . . see.”

            “It’s not really necessary,” said Jitsui apologetically.

            “At all,” Hatano added.

            “But it’s Yuuki-san’s policy, and one he’s strict about,” continued Jitsui.  “So we must obey.”

            “I understand,” said Sakuma.  He watched Hatano carefully, while trying not to be obvious about what he was doing.  Hatano was clearly not happy at all about this.  And Sakuma was well aware Hatano was right.  He’d seen documented evidence of what Hatano was capable of doing to people who took enemy action against him.  But then again, you couldn’t discount the fact that Hatano was still a teen, and Oikawa was a full grown man.  With bodyguards.  Anyone could lose a fight when it was stacked too much against them.  He found himself agreeing with Yuuki’s call on this decision.  To think I’d be agreeing with a major crime syndicate leader, he mused.

            “Amari is here to confirm that I outline your responsibilities to you without leaving anything out,” said Jitsui.  “Because they’re afraid that if we don’t have someone here to confirm I tell you right, we’ll end up pulling the wool over your eyes.  So your job for this evening is this.  You’re to remain here in the control room with Hatano and myself for the duration of Oikawa’s visit to the casino.  You are not to allow us to leave this room while he is still in the building, for any reason less than a medical emergency or a mandatory building evacuation.  You yourself are not permitted to leave this room either, except for those reasons, or unless another emergency arises, and no other member of the security team can be reached to handle it.  Have I left anything out?”

            The question was directed at Amari, who shook his head.  “I think that covers everything.  Oh, right.  There’s a restroom through that door in the back, so don’t let them try to use bathroom breaks as an excuse to get out of here.  And if you or they want food, they have a direct line to the kitchens, so don’t fall for them wanting to make a snack run either.”

            The tall dealer had to sidestep the empty paper cup Hatano chucked at his head.

            “I see Hatano was planning on trying to use that excuse.  He’s the one you have to watch out for.  Jitsui spends his whole shift in here every day anyway, so he’s not as prone to causing people trouble.  But if Hatano tries to bend the rules, Jitsui’s more likely to help him than you.”

            “How often do they end up getting sequestered up here?” asked Sakuma. 

            It was a newcomer who answered.  One who Sakuma hadn’t even heard enter the room, so he jumped slightly, startled.

            “Only a couple times a year.”

            Sakuma turned and found himself staring at the most dangerous man he’d met at D-Agency yet. 

            Miyoshi.  Adopted son of D-Agency’s owner.  Heir apparent to both Yuuki’s fortune and crime syndicate.  Rumored to be much more ruthless and vengeful than his adoptive father.  With an IQ that was off the charts.

            Miyoshi offered Sakuma a charming smile that made his mouth go dry.  “They turn into royal pains whenever this happens.  But they’re our pains.  We’re a lot like family here.  And we do what we must to protect our family.”

            His words and tone were completely polite and genial.  But there was something in his eyes that was almost cruel.  Sakuma had the distinct impression he was being threatened.

            No, he told himself.  Or if he is threatening me, it’s about doing my job right here and making sure these two don’t go out on the floor when this Oikawa’s around.  He can’t know that I’m a cop.  My cover’s good.  It should hold up under even close scrutiny.

            “I understand,” said Sakuma.  “No harm will come to your family on my watch.”

            “Like we need people babysitting us,” Hatano muttered.

            “These are Yuuki-san’s orders.  You know that, Hatano,” Miyoshi said tolerantly.  “So play nice.”

            “Please allow me to make introductions,” said Jitsui.  “Miyoshi, this is –”

            “Sakuma.  The newest member of our security team,” said Miyoshi.  He smiled at Sakuma again.  “I make it a point to know all my employees.  I’m Miyoshi.  But I’m sure you already knew that too.”

            That declaration had a bit of a challenge in its inflections.  Sakuma had the distinct feeling he was being tested. 

            “Yes,” he admitted.  Because it wasn’t unusual to do a bit of research into your prospective employers.  And for someone in security, it would be more suspicious if you didn’t.  “It’s an honor to meet you, Miyoshi-san.”

            “No need for honorifics,” said Miyoshi, waving a hand as though to wave it away.  “Behind the scenes, we’re actually quite informal here – I see you trying to sneak out the door, Hatano.  Get back here and sit down now.”

            Mumbling darkly, Hatano obeyed.

            “We’re about ready for you, Amari.  So I thought I’d come by and collect you.  And give Hatano and Jitsui a bit of added incentive to behave, while I was at it,” said Miyoshi.

            Something about the way he said they were ready for Amari cued Sakuma in. 

            “You’re playing baccarat?”  He regretted it as soon as he asked.  He should be trying not to draw attention to himself right now.

            “I am,” Miyoshi answered casually.  “Are you familiar with the game, Sakuma?”

            “Only what I know from watching movies,” Sakuma admitted.

            “Yes.  Movies are what’s made it so popular,” agreed Miyoshi.  “And the high stakes.  They give it its own allure.  Many high rollers come here specifically for it.  It’s somewhat difficult to get into games at other casinos.  Since the game is almost completely chance, the possibilities of the casino losing millions in a single night are too high a margin for most establishments to want much to do with the game.  Which is why I myself play.  Do you understand?”

            Sakuma did.  Normally the dealer was the casino’s sole representative in any sort of card game.  And since things were always weighted toward the house, that was usually enough.  But in a game with such high stakes, with rules that left things so much more to chance, the house wasn’t favored as much.  So Miyoshi was stepping in, weighting the game back in the house’s favor.  Normally, another casino representative might be protested.  But Miyoshi had an air about him that made Sakuma think people would make exceptions for him in this.  He was young.  Clearly rich.  Gorgeous.  And charismatic.  Like a Japanese James Bond.  Just the kind of man you’d be expecting to play high stakes games.  Once he turned the charm on, Sakuma was certain people were willing to simply forget that he was the heir apparent of this casino.

            “You’re stacking the deck,” answered Sakuma.  “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

            Miyoshi’s smile brightened.  “Very observant.  Enough to make me think you’re wasted being a mere floor security guard, when you’re capable of making such brilliant deductions.”

            Sakuma tried not to stiffen.  But he felt like he’d been drenched with ice water.  The phrase “brilliant deduction” went hand in hand with Sherlock Holmes and other detectives.

            Miyoshi knew.

            He was sure of it.

            Which meant that he was dead.  If the second in command of the D-Agency syndicate knew that he was an undercover cop, that was it for him. 

            But Miyoshi was still twinkling at him, and actually looking less malicious now than he had for most of the rest of their meeting.  Was he being genuine?  Or toying with Sakuma now, trying to lull him into a false sense of security?

            “Give him the rundown about what to watch for on the security monitors, Jitsui,” Miyoshi said.  “And pay close attention, Sakuma.  We expect all of our security team to be adept at what they do.  But for many of them, floor security is all we can entrust them to do.  You, on the other hand, I believe can be useful in other areas as well.  Work hard and a promotion is not outside the realm of possibilities for you.”

            Miyoshi locked eyes with Sakuma.  And Sakuma found that he couldn’t tell what thoughts were running through the mind behind those eyes.  Normally he was pretty good at telling when others were threatening or warning.  But right now, he couldn’t.  It was almost like there was a sheet of glass between him and Miyoshi.  It was keeping him from sorting out the signals.

            There was only one thing that Sakuma knew for certain.  He was definitely in over his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Notes: In time Sakuma will learn that Miyoshi is capable of threatening, warning, and flirting all at the same time.  But it’s their very first meeting, so he can’t be expected to have realized that quite yet. ;)

            Mm, yes, I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this fic.  But the idea popped into my head last night and kept me up.  And I always figure that if I can’t sleep, I might as well do something productive.  So last night it was writing this. 

            If I continue it, it’s probably going to be a series of small stories, on the same timeline, but not necessarily in order, though they will be connected since they’re all in the same AU.  So, what do you think?  Want to see more?


	2. Hatano's Arc: Part 1

            “They’re monsters.”  Those were Sakuma’s first words to fellow detective Honma, at his check in.

            Honma took in Sakuma’s flustered appearance scratched at the ever-present patch of sunburn on his nose, then poured Sakuma a drink.  He slid it to his friend before asking, “What happened?  You’ve only been there a day.”

            “Everything went fine for the first half of my shift,” said Sakuma.  “Even considering that I ran across pretty much every career criminal in the casino we have a file for.  And I’m sure many that we don’t.  Then a high roller they suspect of being a pedophile came in to play baccarat.”

            Honma’s expression went from concerned but amused to grave in an instant. 

            “Nothing happened with that guy,” said Sakuma quickly.  He didn’t want to give Honma the wrong impression about the decent career criminals he was now working with.  It was important to him to keep a distinction between the violent corrupt criminals and the absolute pieces of trash.  “They actually keep a surprisingly tight ship when it comes to that.  Yuuki tightened security all around for the entire evening, to keep an extra close eye on the suspected pedo as well as anyone at the casino who fit that piece of trash’s type.  And it turns out two of his employees fit that sick bastard’s type.  The idea was to sequester them in the control room for the duration of the evening and make sure they had a babysitter all night.  And since I was the new guy, that dubious pleasure fell to me.”

            Honma didn’t smirk as many would have at Sakuma’s predicament.  When pedophiles were involved, he never joked around.  “So what happened?” he asked again.

            “The two I was stuck with were Jitsui and Hatano.  You’ve read their files?”

            “The super hacker and the kid Interpol thinks is Shimano Ryousuke?”

            Sakuma gave a curt nod.

            “Isn’t the hacker nearing his mid-twenties?” Honma asked.

            Sakuma shrugged.  “He looks like a teenager.  So either he has good genes, or he’s used his hacking skills to make himself a legal adult a few years ahead of schedule.”

            “Your guess?”

            “It’s hard to say.  One’s as likely as the other,” Sakuma admitted.

            “And Hatano?  Is he . . ?”

            Sakuma nodded curtly.  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s him.  He’s got a few scars on his arms that match up.  But test this and get the results to Alain.  It should confirm it beyond any doubt.” 

            Honma picked up the evidence bag that Sakuma slid him and peered inside at the single strand of brown hair that was inside. 

            “How’d you get this?”

            “While I was babysitting him and Jitsui?”  Sakuma geared the conversation back onto its original track.  “They lured me into a game of full contact Texas Hold ‘Em.”

            Honma did a doubletake.  “Full contact Texas Hold ‘Em?”

            “Yes,” said Sakuma.  “Full contact Texas Hold ‘Em.”

            Honma coughed to cover up a laugh, some of his good humor returning. 

            “The instructions I’d been given were to keep them in the control room, under pain of being fired, unless there was a medical emergency or a building evacuation,” elaborated Sakuma.  “Jitsui was okay, for the most part.  He works in the control room all the time anyway.  But Hatano didn’t want to be there.  And he and Jitsui are friends, so Jitsui took his side and conspired against me.  I suppose they didn’t completely hate me, because they did leave a loophole open for me so I wouldn’t lose my job.  Hatano dislocated my shoulder and declared it a medical emergency.  Then he left the control room to go raid the kitchens and get me medical attention.  Mainly to raid the kitchens.  Jitsui was the one who popped my shoulder back in place for me.  Eventually.”

            Sakuma shuddered to remember how many tries it had taken.  He was pretty sure Jitsui hadn’t been trying too hard to get it right.  Or else had been trying deliberately to get it wrong, just for his own amusement.

            “Well,” said Honma.  “Kids will be kids.”

            “They are monster kids.”

            “If Hatano is Shimano Ryousuke, you know you got off with a love slap.  Is confirming his identity the reason for this meet?” Honma asked.

            “No,” said Sakuma.  “Reporting that my cover is compromised is.”

            Honma looked at him sharply.  “You’ve only been in there a day.  What did you do?”

            “I didn’t do anything,” said Sakuma.  “They already knew.  I met Miyoshi –”

            “Miyoshi?  As in Yuuki’s adopted son?”             “Is there another Miyoshi that anyone talks about?  Ever?” Sakuma wanted to know.

            “What did you do to get a meeting with him?”

            “Why do you keep assuming that this is something I’m doing?  Miyoshi showed up in the control room right after I was called there and briefed on my babysitting mission,” said Sakuma.  “He showed up on his own.  To warn or threaten me about how he and his father do what’s necessary to safeguard their family.  He hinted that he knew I was a detective.”

            “Hinted or revealed?”

            “Honma, he knows,” said Sakuma.  “I’m sure of it.”

            “Unless you did something to tip your hand, he can’t know it,” said Honma.  “And unless he confirmed in as many words that he knew, there’s no way our superiors are going to let you pull out of this.  Muto’s convinced that you bringing D-Agency down is going to get him a big promotion.”

            “Of course he is,” growled Sakuma.

            “Your cover should be solid –”

            “I thought that going into this, but the more I turn over what Miyoshi said in my mind the more I’m sure it’s not.”

            “Have you considered that he probably approaches every new employee exactly the way he approached you?” asked Honma.

            Sakuma felt an irrational surge of what was almost jealousy, at the thought of Miyoshi’s smoldering eyes piercing anyone else’s soul the way they had his.  Then he was mad at himself for even thinking like that. 

            Honma was continuing.  “These guys aren’t just your typical crime syndicate.  They’re card players.  They’re good at mind games and getting in your head and bluffing.  They’re preying on the same instinct that foxes use to make a rabbit bolt out of a perfectly safe hiding place.”

            “Honma –”

            “Sakuma, your cover was years in the setting up.  And it’s solid.  You didn’t work as a bouncer in that illegal gambling club in Frisco all those years for nothing.”

            “No,” said Sakuma angrily.  “I worked there to take down that yakuza-Triad alliance.  Which I did –”

            “And now it’s led you to bigger things.”

            “What, like the big box they’ll be burying me in?” Sakuma was really angry now.  “That bouncer job was supposed to be it for me being under cover, Honma.  I want to have a life.  One that I really live.  Not one that’s just used by my bosses to get them a damn promotion!”

            “But you know what’s at stake here,” argued Honma.  “The last major mafia presence in Vegas could fall by your hand.”

            “Why, so another can step in and take its place?”

            “If we do our jobs right there won’t be another.”

            Sakuma scoffed.  “That’s what they thought when they took down all the rest of the mob in Vegas.  But all they really did was pave the way for Yuuki to come in and set up D-Agency.”

            “And now we have to correct that mistake.”

            “And you’re going to have to do it without me,” said Sakuma.  “Because if I stay there I’m going to end up dead.  I’m telling you, Miyoshi knows.”             Honma looked at him gravely.  “I know you never wanted this assignment, Sakuma.  I can even sympathize with it.  But if you want to keep your job, you don’t have a choice.  Muto will take you backing out of it as a sign of insubordination.  You’ll be sacked.”

            Sakuma clenched his fist.  “So they’re making me chose between my future and my life?”

            “You don’t think you’re being a tad overdramatic?” asked Honma.  “You have no real proof that your cover’s compromised.”

            “I told you –”

            “And I told you what Muto will say if we bring that to him.  They’re just playing mind games with you, same as they would any new employee,” said Honma.  “If they knew you were a cop they would have never taken you in.  Do you know how many undercovers we’ve tried to place in their organization?  It’s in the triple digits.  Every single one of them gets rejected.  And a card from D-Agency saying ‘Nice try.’  If they’d known you were a cop, you would have gotten that too.  But you didn’t, so they don’t.”

            “Unless there’s something else they want from me,” said Sakuma.

            “What could they possibly want from you?  No offense, you’re good at your job, but you’re not exactly anything special.”

            Sakuma tried to think of a response to that, but couldn’t.  It was true.  He wasn’t rich, or a genius, or connected.  He had nothing that D-Agency could exploit.  There wasn’t a single way he could think of for them to turn an undercover cop amongst them to their advantage.  Wait, no, that wasn’t really true.  They could use him to feed the other cops false intel.  And when he did, he’d be twice on the chopping block.  Once because of his superiors who would call out the mistake as his.  And once because of D-Agency having solid evidence that he was a mole if their false intel was acted on.  So he would have to be doubly careful about making sure the information he passed on was correct.

            “Have another drink,” said Honma, “And I want whatever details you have on that alleged pedophile.  But then we should both be going.  Spending too much time around me could end up compromising your cover.”

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . .

 

            In a private D-Agency lounge, Miyoshi motioned for Jitsui to kill the volume, as the meeting between Detective Sakuma and his handler, Detective Honma came to an end.  The bug that Hatano had planted beneath the collar of Sakuma’s suit jacket would continue transmitting to the computer Jitsui had set up to receive its feed. Miyoshi knew that Jitsui would listen to the recording that was being made later, and report anything else of significance.  If there was anything else of significance. 

            “Sorry, Miyoshi,” said Hatano, abashedly.  “I screwed up.”

            What? Miyoshi wondered.  Then remembered, oh right.  The hair.  Or at least Miyoshi assumed that it was a strand of Hatano’s hair that Sakuma had acquired from the context of the conversation.  Hair that could be tested for DNA.  But that was of little consequence.  It was easy enough to fix.

            “Fukumoto,” said Miyoshi, turning to the tallest man there.  “Is your cover still good at the Metro’s central crime lab?”

            Fukumoto nodded.

            “I’ll leave it to you to deal with whatever DNA sample the detective acquired,” said Miyoshi.

            “Retrieve it, destroy it, or swap it?” asked Fukumoto. 

            “Dealer’s choice,” Miyoshi said, flashing a smile. 

            Fukumoto smirked and took his leave. 

            Miyoshi turned to Hatano.  The younger boy met his eyes, uncowed, which Miyoshi approved of.  Hatano knew he’d messed up.  But he wasn’t going to wallow over it.

            “Full contact Texas Hold ‘Em?” Miyoshi finally asked, letting Hatano off the hook after a few moments of suspense.

            “He was all twitchy after you left,” said Hatano, smirking now that he saw he wasn’t in trouble.  “Misdirection can only get you so far when your mark’s on full alert.”

            “You getting him all flustered like that made Hatano’s job much harder,” said Jitsui.  “It would have been better if you saved your flirting for after the bug had been planted.”

            “I didn’t expect you to have a problem,” said Miyoshi to Hatano.  “And you didn’t.  I know you can be inventive when you need to be.  The matter of the hair was an unforeseen complication.  Who knew the Metro’s finest had any interest in Shimano Ryousuke?  But while we’re on the topic, who is this Alain?  Do you know?”

            Hatano shook his head, looking bemused. 

            Miyoshi turned to Jitsui and simply gave a sly smile.

            Jitsui nodded.  He would have devoted every available resource into finding out, even without the unspoken order.  Miyoshi knew just how possessive Jitsui got when he perceived a threat to Hatano.  The tiny hacker had wreaked havoc as only a hacker could on half a dozen other men who were stupid enough to believe they had a claim on Hatano.  He’d cheerfully bankrupted them, spilled all their secrets online, broke up marriages, cancelled their electricity and water during heat waves, sold their houses from under them, and even crashed a weather satellite onto one of their cars.  After that man had been reduced to living in his car.  While he was in it.  If this Alain character had nefarious intentions for Hatano, he would not be long for this world.

            “So,” spoke up Kaminaga, “I think we all want to know what are your thoughts now, Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi felt the eyes of his and his father’s seven most loyal men on him.  Well, six.  Since Fukumoto had left to go take care of that situation.  The men gathered here weren’t just pawns in D-Agency’s ventures.  Miyoshi didn’t even consider them chess pieces at all.  None of them were ever meant to be sacrificed.  Miyoshi would have trusted any one of them with his life.  So trusting them with information was nothing.

            “The detective has proven more astute than I first thought,” said Miyoshi.  “I was sure he would shrug off the implied threat and plow forward, on his mission.  Instead he interpreted it correctly.”

            “And tried to run away,” sneered Hatano.

            Miyoshi gave an elegant shrug.  “It’s certainly a wiser move to retreat in the face of danger than to convince yourself there is none and keep charging forward.  I’m actually impressed by his reasoning.”

            “But he couldn’t reason it out all the way,” Tazaki pointed out.  Then played devil’s advocate for himself.  “But then again, neither could his friend.”

            “Nor, I’m sure, will any of their superiors if Detective Honma bothers to take Sakuma’s concerns to them.”

            _“What could they possibly want from you?  No offense, you’re good at your job, but you’re not exactly anything special.”_

            Miyoshi recalled Honma’s words and found that he couldn’t disagree more.  Even without his many ideas for what he could want Sakuma for that involved whipped cream.  And he had a lot of those.  But no, he had plenty that didn’t involve whipped cream or any sort of paraphernalia.  Some people really were so short sighted. 

            “You really think he’s going to be useful to us as a double agent in the Metro?” asked Kaminaga.  “Even after this meet up with his handler?  If they start thinking he’s got cold feet, won’t they just yank him out?  And after this assignment’s over, won’t they send him somewhere else?  Far away, out of fear of our retaliation?”

            “By then they’ll realize that nowhere is far enough away,” said Miyoshi.

            “I can crash weather satellites anywhere in the world,” said Jitsui.  He was already on a notebook, fingers flying over the keys.  Probably not hacking satellites, but you never knew with him.

            “I’m sure we can find a way to make it clear that we won’t be going after the detective,” said Miyoshi.  “And when the time comes for him to leave us, I believe it will be the detective’s choice whether or not he wants to transfer to another city.  Though I’m curious to know your thoughts on him, Odagiri.  Out of all of us, you spent the most time with him without throttling him.  What do you make of him?”

            Miyoshi didn’t expect Odagiri to tell him anything of great significance he didn’t already know but the quiet man almost always had little details to add on to the big picture, from his own observations, and those little details often provided better insight.

            “He’s a good man,” said Odagiri without hesitation.  “He’s not going to turn double agent without a good reason.  But the good reasons we have will be good enough.  Oikawa dropping by so soon was a stroke of luck.”

            “Hm, was it now?” Miyoshi wondered out loud.

            “You invited him here?” asked Tazaki.  The tone he used was calm and neutral.  But the pigeon on his wrist had picked up on subtler cues that he found the idea so distasteful, and began shifting from foot to foot, fluffing itself up as though troubled.

            “Of course not.  When Oikawa goes down, which he will, and sooner rather than later, I don’t want any sort of personal correspondence between him and myself on record,” huffed Miyoshi.

            “He had me hack into the television feeds at Oikawa’s penthouse last night, and replace regular programming with James Bond marathons,” Jitsui revealed.

            The pigeon calmed itself as Tazaki chuckled at this revelation.  And Miyoshi noticed subtle signs that his other men were relaxing a bit as well.

            It was a delicate balance they all walked.  And that Miyoshi and Yuuki walked, keeping them all in line.  Each man had a very dark side.  They had all done things that normal society would deem them monsters for.  But each of them also had his own triggers, and lines that they would not cross.  What held their team together, as much as anything else, was the fact that all their lines fenced in a good chunk of common ground.  Make no mistake, they were no avenging angels.  They embraced their own status as monsters.  But that didn’t mean every other monster in the world was on their side.

            Miyoshi wondered what Detective Sakuma would think, once his eyes had been opened to the real game being played here in Vegas.  But he had not a single doubt which side Sakuma would take in the end.

 

* * *

 

 

Omake

 

            “Honma, it’s me.”

            “Sakuma?  Why are you calling so soon?  You’re risking compromising your cover.”

            “It’s already compromised.”

            “We’ve been over this already –”

            “That’s not why I’m calling.  I want to know about the DNA test.  Did you run it yet?”

            “Well . . . yes . . .”

            “And?  Do we call Alain?  He won’t forgive us if we put it off.”

            “Sakuma.  The DNA test wasn’t a match.”

            “What?  Oh.  I see.”

            “Mainly because the DNA you brought us wasn’t even human.”

            “What?”

            “The lab reported back that the hair you gave us to test came from a Pomeranian.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: Is this Fukumoto’s way of saying that Hatano is a little bitch?  Maybe, my friend.  Maybe.

 

            Okay, real notes, lol.  So, wow!  I was surprised at all the positive feedback for Chapter 1.  Thank you kindly for your compliments and your advice!  I’ve been thinking about how to continue this all week and have come up with some ideas for it that I think will work really well.  And I’m working on coming up with a background for each of our boys and why he’s become the kind of person he is in this AU. 

            This story will be more linear than I first expected it to be, but there will probably be some interlude/flashback chapters or arcs mixed in now and then.  I hope everyone’s okay with that idea.  If not . . . well, I promise to write them as best I can and try to change your mind. ;) 

            So?  What did you think of Chapter 2?  Is everything making sense so far?  And do you have any suspicions about those little teasers mixed in?


	3. Hatano's Arc: Part 2

            “Good evening, Detective.”

            That suave, silky voice made Sakuma’s heart skip a beat.  And not just because of the title he’d been addressed by.  Slowly, he turned around and suddenly found himself trapped in place by a pair of luminous red-brown eyes.

            “No protests over the nickname?” asked Miyoshi, when all Sakuma did was stand there, staring dumbly.  “Excellent.  Then I shall call you that from now on.”

            “What?  What, no – I mean,” Sakuma stuttered and tried to pull himself under control.  “Why ‘Detective?’”

            As if he didn’t know exactly why.

            “Hm?  Why because of your deductive reasoning last night,” said Miyoshi, as though it were obvious.  “I did consider nick naming you Sherlock.  But I thought that could too easily be taken for mocking you.”

            As though he wasn’t mocking Sakuma with every single word he spoke.

            “I don’t particularly need a nickname,” said Sakuma.  There really was no way to tell Miyoshi to stop calling him that without sounding rude.  And considering that Miyoshi was technically his boss . . . well, not his real boss, but his fake boss.  Who was supposed to think that he was Sakuma’s real boss, but they both knew better.  But to Sakuma it felt like Miyoshi was challenging him to call his bluff.  And he couldn’t do that.  Not if he wanted to keep his job as a cop.  And his life.

            “People don’t usually get nicknames because they want them,” said Miyoshi. 

            “I suppose not.” Sakuma shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.  “Was there something you needed me to do for you, sir?”

            “Yes, in fact,” said Miyoshi.  “I need you to stop calling me sir.  Sir is my father.  No need to be so formal with me.”

            Sakuma nodded.  “Alright.  But was there something you needed me to do for you, Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi’s eyes smoldered for a split second, and Sakuma felt like he had said a very wrong thing.  But Miyoshi’s expression didn’t turn lewd or suggestive.  Just his eyes, and only for that second.  Then he was smiling mildly, with good humor.

            “I was actually checking to see if there was anything I could do for you, Detective,” Miyoshi said.

            Sakuma had to fight off a wince every time Miyoshi called him that.

            “You survived your first day on the job.  And your first encounter with our little demon twins.  Most new hires don’t have to deal with them on their very first day.  I just thought I’d stop by and check to make sure they didn’t drive you away.  No thoughts of quitting and running away?”

            Plenty, Sakuma thought.  But out loud he said, “No.  They’ll have to try a little harder than that to scare me away.  Though I did wonder if I would be fired for my failure to keep them both under guard.”

            Miyoshi gave a lazy chuckle.  “Oh no.  We’re not that unfair.  Hatano and Jitsui are each a handful on their own.  Put them together and it’s unreasonable to expect anyone less than my father to be able to control them.  And even he has to be within shouting distance for that to be a guarantee.  We wouldn’t fire anyone for not being able to keep them corralled, so long as they were doing their best.”

            Sakuma saw a chance to try to get some info.  But he knew he needed to be subtle about it.  He was positive that Miyoshi knew he was an undercover cop.  So anything or anyone he asked for information about would be noted if he was too obvious in wanting that information.  But if he could keep it casual . . .

            “Jitsui wasn’t so bad,” said Sakuma.  “When he wasn’t playing doctor.  Hatano’s the one who surprised me.  He doesn’t even look old enough to be working on a casino floor.  But he can take down full grown men.”

            “Hm, yes,” said Miyoshi.  “He is rather unique.”

            Vague and unhelpful commentary.  Sakuma tried again.

            “Where did he learn to dislocate someone’s shoulder like that?”

            Miyoshi shrugged slightly.  “If I had to guess . . . I’d say from the Power Rangers.”

            A blatant lie now.  Sakuma knew he should probably back off.  His queries were getting him nowhere, and the harder he pressed, the more suspicious it would look.  But Alain was his friend, and Alain wanted to know.  And Sakuma had seen the case wall in Alain’s apartment, and heard him lamenting about that one unsolved case that haunted him the most, on the rare occasion that his friend sought solace in a bottle.  So for Alain’s sake, he would try.  He doubted that asking a few questions about Hatano would be the determining factor for whether or not Miyoshi decided to have him killed.

            “Not from a martial arts master?” Sakuma asked.  “Studying overseas or some such?”

            Miyoshi raised his eyebrows at Sakuma and gave him an appraising look.  “Why?” he asked finally.  “Are you interested in Hatano?”

            “Er –”

            “I should warn you, Jitsui tends to be a bit possessive when it comes to that boy,” said Miyoshi, looking amused.  “And out of anyone at this casino, Jitsui is the very last one you want to cross.”

            “No, I don’t –”

            “Moreover, isn’t he a bit young for you, Detective?  Or do your tastes run that way?”

            “No!  I’m not – I don’t – I’m not asking because I’m interested in him like that!” said Sakuma in a rush.  “I was just wondering about what kind of training he did!”

            “Well, that’s great news,” said Miyoshi cheerfully.  “I would have hated if Jitsui decided to run you off.  He interprets people trying to dig up details on Hatano as a threat.”

            And that was a warning if Sakuma had ever heard one.  Nothing in Miyoshi’s tone changed, or became more malignant.  But Sakuma knew he was being warned off.

            But the question was why?  And the reasons made Sakuma’s blood run cold.  It was like Miyoshi knew why Sakuma was interested in Hatano.  But how could he know that?  Did D-Agency have a mole in the Metro?  But even if they did, there shouldn’t have been documentation of why Sakuma was trying to get info on Hatano.  Yes, Vegas’s police force had speculations in their rather thin file on Hatano that he had once been Shimano Ryousuke, but since he hadn’t been implicated in any major crimes yet, they didn’t really care about him.  Sakuma was trying to find out if he really was Shimano Ryousuke as a favor for a friend.  It was an off the book addition to Sakuma’s real mission of trying to find enough on D-Agency’s inner circle to get them all arrested.  So even if their mole was in Interpol, they still shouldn’t have known anything.

            But now that Sakuma thought about it, he realized that the chances of D-Agency having sources inside the Metro were actually very likely.  Sadly, there were many cops who were not above taking bribes, and D-Agency certainly had the funds to pay those bribes.  And now that he was thinking along those lines, Sakuma realized that he couldn’t rule out a D-Agency spy’s involvement in that DNA test debacle from that morning.  He was positive that he’d torn that piece of hair out of Hatano’s head, while Hatano was throttling him the previous evening.  It turning out to be dog hair, Pomeranian hair no less, felt too much like someone’s idea of a joke for it to just be happenstance.

             So . . . Sakuma took this to mean that Jitsui wasn’t the only one who was possessive, or protective of Hatano.  Miyoshi was definitely telling Sakuma to back off in his blatant, but just ambiguous enough to be able to plausibly deny threatening someone kind of way.  And however the hair had gotten switched out, Sakuma was sure that the order had originated from him.  Or his father.  Yuuki was very selective in his own body guards, and Hatano had been seen accompanying the old man out on more than one occasion. 

            Well, Sakuma knew when he needed to retreat from a subject.  He would let Alain know about this conversation, and what conclusions he’d drawn from it, but for the time being, at least, he would drop his inquiries.  Otherwise, he had the feeling that he’d be the next poor sap on the long list of people who had annoyed Jitsui and ended up bankrupted.  And Miyoshi clearly wouldn’t do anything to stop that.

            “Detective?” spoke a voice in his ear.

            Sakuma looked to Miyoshi and started to respond, but then realized that the voice had spoken in his earpiece, and it wasn’t Miyoshi’s voice.  It was Jitsui’s.

            I’m screwed, he thought miserably.  He coughed several times to compose himself, before answering.  “You’re calling me Detective too, Jitsui?”

            “I think it suits you, Detective,” said Jitsui.  “You are pretty good at reasoning things out.”

            Yes.  Sakuma had already reasoned out that Jitsui had heard their entire conversation.  Or possibly lip read it.  Like in any casino, there was a crazy number of security cameras.  D-Agency’s cameras were clear enough that last night in the control room, Sakuma had been able to see the cards people on the gambling floor had been holding in their hands.

            “However,” continued Jitsui, before Sakuma could sink too deep into despair about just what the hacker was going to do to him, “I’m contacting you with an assignment.  Kaminaga’s got a mouse at his table.  Please go apply a bit of pressure.”

            A mouse, Sakuma remembered, was the casino’s term for a skittish lone card counter.  And like any casino, D-Agency didn’t like their guests counting cards.  It wasn’t cheating, as long as they were only using their brains and eyes to count the cards, and not apps or stealthy surveillance equipment.  But casinos still didn’t like it.  Some casinos just chucked anyone caught card counting out the doors.  They did have the right to refuse admittance to anyone for any reason.  But D-Agency reserved extreme actions like that for people who were outright cheating, and for card counting teams, who thought it would be fun to imitate Bringing Down The House.  The one good thing about that movie, in D-Agency’s opinion, was that it put a very vivid picture into peoples’ minds about what casinos might do to someone caught card counting.

            “Roger that,” said Sakuma.  Then he looked at Miyoshi and started to explain.

            Miyoshi stopped him with a held up hand.  “Jitsui patched me into your feed.  So it seems that duty calls.”

            “Yes,” said Sakuma.  He was surprised to find he was regretful to end his little . . . conversation?  Threatening session?  Whatever it was.  Despite it being somewhat terrifying, Sakuma couldn’t deny that verbal sparring with D-Agency’s prince was intellectually stimulating. 

            “Too bad,” said Miyoshi.  “I have other duties to attend to as well.  But don’t worry.  Our paths will cross again.  You can bet on it.”

            Sakuma nodded and took his leave.  Why am I even here? he wondered to himself for the umpteenth time that very night.  This job is literally going to be the death of me.

            The situation Jitsui had called him to attend to was extremely easy to deal with.  He made his way to Kaminaga’s blackjack table.

            “The mouse is the shrimpy guy with the ugly ass checkered shirt, and the clashing bow tie,” Jitsui said through his earpiece, having tracked his progress through the casino.  “It’s probably good Miyoshi didn’t come with you.  He’d want him thrown out solely because of his horrible fashion sense.”

            “I see him,” Sakuma transmitted, then put a stern look on his face and walked right up to the mouse.  And just stood there.

            The mouse jumped and went all twitchy.  Sakuma maintained his position, and continued scowling down at him.  It took the mouse approximately five seconds to decide that now would be a good time to cash out.  As he fled the table, Sakuma followed him at a not so discreet distance, ignoring Kaminaga’s smirk as he went.

            “Excellent work, Detective Sakuma,” said Jitsui.  “Your scary face drove him right off.”

            My face isn’t that scary, Sakuma thought, a bit insulted.  But he decided not to argue with Jitsui.  He didn’t want to do anything else to put himself on the hacker’s bad side. 

            “Thanks, I guess,” he said, even though he’d more likely been insulted than complimented.

            It was standard procedure to follow mice all the way to the casino doors, so that’s what Sakuma did.  He only waited long enough to ensure that the card counter had disappeared into the night before returning to his post. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Working at the casino was a job.  Not a bad one, but still, just a job.  Going undercover, Sakuma had learned the first, and only other time he’d done so, was mostly boring.  And while it was nice to be drawing a double pay check, he would much rather have forfeited the extra money and gone to work on something worthwhile instead.  There was no way he would ever be entrusted with any sensitive or incriminating information at D-Agency.  Not when all the career criminals were well aware of what he was.  They were either planning to kill him, entrap him in something, that would make him look like an idiot in front of his fellow police, and get him a demotion, or they were just playing with him, period.  Sakuma honestly didn’t know which. 

            Essentially, he was just risking his life for nothing.  And he was seriously considering backing out of this assignment.

            Undercover work wasn’t for him.  He’d realized that when he’d gone undercover in San Francisco, as a bouncer/enforcer in an illegal gambling den.  That place had truly been a den, not an upstanding business like D-Agency’s front.  Sakuma had needed to do some things he’d prefer never to do again.  Nothing worse than breaking bones, but that was bad enough.  And if the people did deserve it, that fact was easy to forget when they were crying and begging for mercy.  But his work there had paid off in the end.  The local yakuza and the local Triad alliance had shattered when the club had been raided one night, while both parties’ leaders were there.  Each blamed the other side for the leak and their relations crumbled.  As did their thriving heroin trade. 

            Sakuma had come out of that assignment with a promotion to detective, and his choice of both departments and precincts to transfer into.  Or at least that’s how it was supposed to be.  But before his paperwork had been processed, the offer had been cancelled.  Instead some bigwigs from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department swept in and essentially demanded that Sakuma go undercover for them.  They’d had the audacity to submit an employment application to D-Agency Hotel and Casino, using information taken from his files, without his knowledge, and had set the whole thing up. 

            Sakuma had expected to be backed up by the San Francisco PD.  Hadn’t he just sacrificed three years of his life undercover for them?  Wasn’t that enough?  But big favors had apparently been promised from Vegas.  Sakuma didn’t have a choice.  It was either do what the Metro said, or lose his job at SFPD. 

            He had considered quitting right then and there.  Because after all the work he had put in for the SFPD, and the excellent results he’d achieved for them, he thought he had the right to expect some loyalty and support.  But the fear of what he would do without his job had held him back.  Being a cop was what he wanted to do, and he was good at it.  Changing careers was daunting.  And transferring to another police department wasn’t an option.  That had been made clear to him when he brought it up.  He’d been backed into a corner and he didn’t appreciate it.  But he’d clutched onto the hope that if he could just see this assignment through, then he could go back and do the work he wanted.

            But now Sakuma wondered if he would be dead before that happened.  Or if the career criminals of D-Agency would ruin any credibility he had as a police officer, and leave his career in ruins.

            But what was starting to sting the most now, was that . . . after a week into this assignment, Sakuma wasn’t really minding the boring work that he was doing as floor security for D-Agency Hotel and Casino.  Despite the threats to his safety and real job that were constantly hanging over his head, there were actually times when he found himself feeling satisfied here, or even enjoying the ambience.

            Odagiri, his boss that he reported to directly, was nice.  For an arms trafficker.  He was on the quiet side, and very somber, but he always had a kind word for Sakuma, and was thorough in helping him learn all his duties.

            Fukumoto, who Odagiri was close with, and often hung out with on breaks or after hours, extended a warm welcome to Sakuma as well, when Odagiri brought Sakuma with him to the bar Fukumoto tended, for drinks when his shift was over.   Fukumoto would always either throw in free snacks with the drinks Sakuma bought, or just give him the drinks for free.  He was quiet too, but not awkwardly so, and every now and then he cracked a joke that made Sakuma double over in laughter.

            Fukumoto’s bar, Sakuma realized before long, was where the other higher up members of D-Agency liked to congregate.  Probably for the same reasons he did.  Part of his assignment was to learn which of the career criminals were part of D-Agency’s inner circle.  Or at least which of them were that hadn’t been identified as being so yet.  The Metro was already aware that Kaminaga, Odagiri, Fukumoto, and Jitsui were in the inner circle.  Tazaki, Amari, and Hatano they were less certain about.  Affiliated with D-Agency, yes, but whether or not they were privy to the inner workings of the organization, the Metro was less sure about. 

            Sakuma, on the other hand, was now positive they were in the inner circle.  It was clear from watching their interactions that they weren’t just colleagues and fellow criminals.  They were close friends.

            Amari the conman went around acting like a big brother to the group of seven other career criminals, that were in Miyoshi’s confidences.  His smiles were brighter when he shined them on them, and he was always slinging an arm around their shoulders, or joking with them.  While there was a chance that he was faking that he liked them, and that getting in their good graces was part of his master plan to eventually con them, Sakuma tended to doubt that.  He’d known conmen before.  Arrested a few too.  Amari’s affection toward the other men was genuine. 

            Kaminaga, the blackjack dealer/rumored assassin, was friendly with all the others too, but seemed especially close with both Miyoshi and Tazaki.  He was clearly a leader amongst the whole group when Miyoshi wasn’t around.  It made Sakuma think that there was more to his involvement in the agency than him just being a mere assassin.

            Tazaki was hard not to like.  He was very friendly, not just to his fellow criminals, but to everyone.  Sakuma saw him pulling out flowers from behind the ears of elderly women, and presenting them to those women with a flourish.  And children, who were often bored in the casinos on account of there not being much that children could do in casinos, were all in love with Tazaki.  The man carried pigeons around in his jacket, and whenever he saw a morose looking child, would stop, kneel down, and produce his pigeon out of thin air for their amusement.  His shows, Sakuma learned, were always packed.  Mainly with children and women.  Somehow Sakuma had no trouble believing that this was the man who was responsible for multiple heists against corrupt insurance companies that totaled up to several billion dollars.  But he couldn’t help but wonder how Tazaki had fallen in with coldblooded killers and violent career criminals like the men of D-Agency.

            There was a clear and present danger here at D-Agency that Sakuma had never had to worry about in his last undercover job.  He was in danger of liking these men.  Despite their criminal activities and their moral lapses.  The sides of themselves that they showed to each other, and to him, made him think they were the kind of people who he wouldn’t mind being friends with.  The knowledge that he was only there to betray them made him feel a little sick.  Even though he was certain that they knew exactly what he was and why he was there. 

            Sometimes he wondered if he was just a game to them.  And then he remembered yeah, he was just a game to them.  But at least they weren’t trying to hide it.  Sakuma knew that if they didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t know that they knew that he was a cop.  They could have toned down the hints, and smirks, and references to his real line of work, and he would have been none the wiser.  But for their own reasons, they’d decided to give him a more or less level playing field.

            It was kind of sad when murderers and criminals treated him more fairly than the cops he worked with did.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi was seated at his desk, in his private office.  And he hadn’t been expecting visitors.  But his loyal seven had blanket permission to interrupt him whenever they deemed it necessary.

            It was Jitsui who stood in his door now.  Which meant there was a high chance that this was something of importance.  His head of surveillance took his job very seriously and rarely left the control room.  He saw everything that went on in the casino.  There was a security room full of employees, monitoring the same feeds that Jitsui himself spent the whole day watching.  They split the cameras up, assigning different workers to different feeds, so that they could concentrate better.  Somehow Jitsui still spotted almost all cheaters, card counters, problematic guests, and other possible threats before they did.  Jitsui liked throwing that in their faces.  It was, Miyoshi believed, the main reason why he liked his job.  If he was stepping away from his screens, it was for something he deemed important.

            “Come in,” Miyoshi said immediately, and put down the papers he’d been reading.  “What brings you here?”

            Jitsui shut the door behind him and it locked automatically.  He then strode forward with a thick folder that he placed on Miyoshi’s desk.  “I found out who Alain is.”

            By that, Miyoshi took it to mean that Jitsui had found out Alain’s full name, social security number, date of birth, mother’s maiden name, and every other bit of confidential information that could be misused to wreck his life.  And more besides that.  But he’d expected no less.

            What he hadn’t expected was for Jitsui to come to him with this information without a savage look on his angelic little face. 

            Miyoshi opened the folder.  As expected, the first page was a bio sheet containing a picture of one Alain Lernier.  “You’ve amassed quite a bit of information.  Care to summarize it for me?”

            “He works for Interpol,” Jitsui said.  “During the year that the Shimano family was massacred, he was working on trying to bust a child trafficking ring.”

            Miyoshi’s eyes narrowed.  He had a hunch where this was going.  No, he was pretty sure he knew exactly where this was going, based on Jitsui’s lack of bloodlust or satisfaction.  Because if Lernier had been corrupt, Jitsui would either be chomping at the bit to ruin this man, or would have dealt with him already, without bothering to get Miyoshi’s permission.  So if he wasn’t corrupt . . .

            “His team raided that warehouse where that botched snuff film was shot.  They have the footage in the camera that was left running.  So, they know exactly what happened, and what Shimano Ryousuke did to his captors,” said Jitsui, his face dark with anger, but anger aimed at men who were dead and beyond his reach. 

            Miyoshi studied Jitsui, gaining as much information from his reactions as his words.  Alain Lernier still had an interest in Shimano Ryousuke.  That had been made clear by Sakuma’s meet with his handler.  But his interest clearly wasn’t in making Shimano stand trial for murdering those sick freaks.  If it was, Jitsui’s anger would be aimed at Lernier as well as the dead men.

            “But according to the information I was able to get, the footage ends with Shimano Ryousuke being hit over the head, knocked out, and dragged off camera,” said Jitsui.  “There was no evidence to suggest he was still alive.  But Lernier refused to believe he was dead without physical evidence.”

            “So he’s been looking for him ever since,” said Miyoshi softly. 

            “Years later he made the connection to the underground fighting ring.  But by the time he managed to track down and bust that . . .” Jitsui shrugged.  

            “And so the trail went cold again.”

            “No records indicate that Interpol is aware that Hatano was Shimano Ryousuke,” said Jitsui.  “So, it’s reasonable to assume that it was Detective Sakuma who was the one to make the connection.  He and Alain Lernier are friends.  Though that was hard to discover, and why it took me so long to finally find all this out.  The detective has done a very good job of hiding his true identity and connections.”

            “Are you angry at the detective?” Miyoshi asked.  He needed to know.  And he believed that Jitsui would answer him honestly.  The young hacker felt he owed Yuuki and Miyoshi enough that he would give them a heads up if he planned on killing or otherwise ruining one of their game pieces.

            “Not at the moment,” said Jitsui.  Which meant that he was reserving the right to change his mind if the situation became problematic because of the detective’s meddling.

            “And Lernier?  What are your thoughts on him?” Miyoshi asked, because he was genuinely curious about that.

            “He doesn’t seem like a bad man.  But he can’t have Hatano.”

            Miyoshi smiled slyly at that.  “Naturally.”

            The look Jitsui gave him was hilarious in its own way.  It was fierce, make no mistake.  But on Jitsui’s angelic face, it came across about as scary as a tiny kitten flashing fangs.  But kittens couldn’t hack your laptop to overload and ignite its battery and burn down your house while you were sleeping.  Jitsui could.  And would. 

            Jitsui was silent for a minute, then spoke again.  “He’s sacrificed a lot, looking for Shimano.  His fiancé left him and married his partner.  And he’s turned down two promotions for high-paying, comfy desk jobs so he could stay in the field.”

            “So you feel bad for him,” Miyoshi surmised.

            “Hatano is mine.”

            Miyoshi raised his hands to placate him.  “I never said he wasn’t.”

            Jitsui didn’t look convinced.  Miyoshi fought down the urge to shake his head and smirk, because he knew it wouldn’t be well received. 

            One thing about Hatano and Jitsui vexed Miyoshi, somewhat.  He still couldn’t tell if they were actually together, or if Jitsui saw Hatano as a sort of pet.  All the evidence Miyoshi had showed that one was as likely as the other.  But Jitsui wasn’t telling, and no one was stupid enough to ask Hatano. 

            “I hope you’re not here looking for assurances that D-Agency will be behind you, if it comes down to a fight, legal or otherwise, for Hatano,” said Miyoshi.  But he kind of figured that was what this was about.  Or possibly, Jitsui didn’t doubt it, but wanted to hear it in as many words.  “I would hope that you know he’s one of us.  And we keep what’s ours.”

            Jitsui gave Miyoshi his angel smile.  “And I hope you know how much I appreciate that.  But I also hope you know that I’m quite capable of dealing with any threats to Hatano on my own.”

            Oh.  So that was it.  Jitsui just wanted to brag.

            “Believe me, I know,” said Miyoshi.  He really should have seen that coming.

            Jitsui beamed.  “I should get back to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Back in the control room, Jitsui sat and stretched.  Then he realized that a yellow alert was flashing on his screen.  A scowl marred his gentle features when he realized what the threat was.  His facial recognition software had picked up a certain guest who they took pains to keep an eye on.  And when he saw how long the alert had been active, he wanted to kick himself.  He shouldn’t have taken so long talking to Miyoshi.

            He punched down the button on the keyboard he’d rigged solely for shortcuts, that would give him a direct line to Miyoshi.  “That bastard piece of shit is back, and has been for five minutes.  I’m putting the necessary procedures into action.  Will you deal with those lazy idiots in the security room, or should I?”

            “I will,” said Miyoshi, not sounding the least bit happy.  “Continue with procedures.”

            Jitsui switched to his direct line with Hatano.  “Hey.  I need you in the control room, ASAP.”

            He waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming.

            “Hatano?  Do you copy?”

            When he didn’t get a response again, Jitsui used one hand to tap several buttons, remotely turning on the transmit feature of Hatano’s wire, so that he could hear what was happening around his friend.  With his other, he hit the key sequence on his regular keyboard that brought up the menu of casino employees, and their locations.  Or at least the locations of their IDs, which contained computer chips to unlock doors and broadcast their positions. 

            “Where has an exquisite little thing like you been hiding all this time?” an oily voice asked through Hatano’s wire.

            Jitsui growled angrily as the security feeds of the cameras around Hatano’s current position popped up in the middle screens.  He already knew what he would see, but it still sent an uncontrollable tidal wave of rage crashing down over his head when he spotted them on the cameras.  Hatano.  And Oikawa. 

 

* * *

 

            Notes:  If you read all my ongoing fics, it probably seems like I’m in the middle of “Torture Hatano” week, lol.  Sorry, I’m not sorry.  But if it’s any consolation, at some point during this fic, I plan to show each and every one of our boys being miserable, or in mortal danger.  Each of them’s going to have their own arc.  Hatano was the only one I’d developed a backstory for before I was even sure I was continuing this fic, so naturally he’s first.  Sakuma’s the one with the next most details in his background right now, but he’s kind of the main character of the overall plotline.  After that, I think Tazaki probably has the next most fleshed out background right now, but it will be several weeks, maybe a month or two before I finish the first arc, so I have plenty of time to decide who the second arc will center around. 

            A couple warnings for the future.  One, I’m going to be moving either later this month, or sometime next month.  So my writing will be interrupted for a week or two, when that happens.

            And two, I gave Hatano a very brutal backstory.  You’ve gotten the bare bones of it from the conversations and subtext.  I don’t plan to go into graphic details about what he’s been through, and nothing that would require an explicit rating has happened to him or is going to happen to him, so you don’t have to worry about that.  But this arc is important for getting Sakuma to see things from D-Agency’s point of view, and so having it be jarring and heart breaking is necessary to the plot.  Plus I want to test my writing skills and see if I can make people cry.  Fair warning. :P


	4. Hatano's Arc: Part 3

            When a hand settled on his hip, possessively, and spun him around, Hatano was taken by surprise.  If it had been a sucker punch or sneak attack, he would have handled it better.  His training had him mentally prepared for those things.  But being touched in a way that made his skin crawl was a different kettle of fish entirely, and Hatano froze.

            He’d never seen Oikawa in person before, but he’d seen him plenty of times on Jitsui’s screens.  Ever since he’d been taken in by Yuuki-san and the rest of D-Agency, he’d never been allowed on the floor when Oikawa was around.  Yuuki’s orders.  Hatano was sent up to the control room, with Jitsui, which at first they thought would be fine, since he and Jitsui were always hanging around each other anyway.  During his lunch breaks and off the clock, he’d spent hours lounging there with his friend and had always been fine with it.  But the second they told him that he had to stay there, the control room started feeling like a cage, and he had to escape from it.  Jitsui understood and helped him.  But he stayed connected to Hatano through his wire and warned him if he was at risk of crossing paths with the pedo.  Not that Hatano had been too worried about what would happen if he did.  People had tried to take advantage of him before.  He’d torn them apart with his bare hands.  And he’d been much younger then, and drugged halfway to oblivion.  If anyone tried anything with him now, Hatano would deal with them just as violently.  Or so he always thought.

            But suddenly, he felt like he was eight years old again, and waking up from a nightmare, straight into another nightmare, where men were pawing at his body and pulling at his clothes.  It was the hand on his hip, he realized, as he tried to pull his mind back to the present.  And the thumb rubbing tiny circles just above his hipbone, just like that man from back then had done.

            Someone was talking to him.  Two someones.  Jitsui through his earpiece, and Oikawa right in front of him.  But Hatano couldn’t hear what either of them were saying.  It was just white noise in his ears.

            Oikawa leered at him then.  And reached down to touch Hatano’s face.  And Hatano realized that while he’d been in a stupor, he’d been maneuvered so Oikawa was pinning him between the edge of the bar and the wall.

            Where was Fukumoto?  He would help – but he wasn’t in sight.  Oh right, he’d stepped back into the kitchen to check on the fry chef.  He’d be back soon, but . . . but Hatano didn’t need his help.

            Kill him, said a cool voice in Hatano’s mind.  The same cold voice that had spurred him into action the other time he found himself in this situation, years ago, cutting through the drugs, and the fear, to give him direction.

            Hatano raised his arms to obey it.

            But then someone intervened.  The detective of all people.  One second, Oikawa was holding Hatano by both the waist and the face, and Hatano was preparing to sink his fingers into Oikawa’s carotid artery.  The next, Hatano had been pulled out of Oikawa’s grasp and away from his cornered position, and Sakuma was between him and Oikawa.  Sakuma kept one protective hand behind him, fingertips just touching Hatano’s chest.  And he faced Oikawa head on.

            “I’m sorry, sir, but my colleague is needed elsewhere,” Sakuma said, politely, but with steel in his voice.  “Is there something that maybe I can help you with?”

            Oikawa’s expression grew supremely distasteful.  Hatano almost wanted to laugh.  The detective was definitely not offering the things going through Oikawa’s perverted mind.

            “I’m sure his duties aren’t so pressing that he can’t stay a few minutes,” said Oikawa.  He tried to step around Sakuma, but Sakuma moved, keeping himself firmly between Oikawa and Hatano.

            “I’m afraid his duties are very important tonight,” said Sakuma.  “You’ll have to excuse him.”

            Oikawa sneered.  “You clearly don’t know who I am.  And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before, so you must be new.  But I’m not someone who you say no to.  Now get out of my way.”

            “No,” Sakuma said simply.

            Hatano had been staring dumbly, up until that point.  But right then he really couldn’t help barking out a laugh.  Oikawa’s face was turning purple.  Oh, but his hired thugs were starting to circle around them.  One of them grabbed Hatano’s shoulder.  The motion was aggressive, not lewd, and for Hatano that made all the difference.

            He grabbed the hand that had grabbed him and wrenched it.  The man’s shoulder made a nice sick popping noise as its joint was sprained out of its socket.  He shoved the thug into the next closest man, knocking them both to the floor.

            “Hatano!”  Fukumoto had returned at a run, doubtlessly summoned through his wire.  He hadn’t known the full story when he came through the kitchen doors, but Hatano saw when it dawned on him what was happening.  Understanding crossed his face, along with something dangerous and burning in his eyes.

            “Hatano?” Oikawa asked, or rather purred.  His voice made Hatano suddenly feel like his name was something gross and slimy.  “What a nice name, for a nice little boy.  How would you like to come home with me tonight, Hatano?”

            Hatano glowered at him.

            “Oh, such a defiant look.”

            “I’m sorry, but I already told you.  He’s needed elsewhere,” said Sakuma, retreating back toward Hatano and grabbing a handful of his suit.  “We’re taking our leave.  Now.”

            Hatano found that he didn’t mind being grabbed by Sakuma, and forcefully towed out of the bar.  Sakuma, at least, wasn’t hitting on him.  There was nothing lewd about his touch.  He was protective, but that was it.  He felt, and it was stupid to think this considering he was a cop, but he felt like one of the other members of D-Agency’s inner circle.  Like he was someone who could be trusted to watch your back.

            “Don’t worry, Hatano.  I’ll be seeing you really soon,” Oikawa called after them.

            “No,” said Fukumoto, who’d joined them and was covering their retreat.  “You won’t.”

  

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Sakuma didn’t care how much trouble he was in.  If he had to make the same choice over again, he’d have done the exact same thing.

            Hatano may have been a dangerous martial arts prodigy, and a future (or current) enforcer for D-Agency, but he was still a sixteen-year-old boy.  And Sakuma had seen how he’d frozen like a deer in the headlights when Oikawa had come straight up to him and started getting handsy.  Sakuma wasn’t the sort of man who could ever stand by and let that happen right in front of him.  And if it cost him his job at D-Agency, and ultimately his job as a cop for blowing this assignment, then as far as he was concerned, each and every one of his bosses could go fuck themselves.  Men didn’t get to feel up children when Sakuma was within shooting distance. 

            He steered Hatano out of the bar and to the closest service hallway, and used his ID to unlock it.  Surprisingly, Hatano, who had been the biggest pain in the ass when Sakuma had actually had to babysit him, didn’t offer any protest or resistance now.  Could be that the boy was in shock.  Or he was just scared enough that he didn’t mind the assistance.  Either one was as likely as the other.  As soon as the door clicked shut and auto locked behind them, Hatano pulled away from Sakuma and leaned so his back was against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and a frown on his face.  He suddenly looked like his mind was miles away.  Sakuma didn’t think that was a good thing, and wondered if he needed to drag Hatano to the casino’s clinic.  It was starting to seem more likely now that he was in shock.

            “Hatano!  Fukumoto!  Detective!”  Tazaki and Amari were running down the service hall to meet them. 

            Sakuma bristled.  “Is everyone calling me that now?”

            “Yes,” said Hatano, straight faced.

            The expressions that Tazaki and Amari gave them were hard for Sakuma to read.  He got the feeling that they were hearing something through their wires that Sakuma had not been linked in on.

            “Miyoshi wants you both in the control room, right now,” said Tazaki.

            “We’ll walk you there,” said Amari.  “Not that we don’t trust you or anything.  Just that there might be a meeting for . . . some of us.”

            Normally Sakuma would have been trying to glean any additional information about this potential meeting of D-Agency’s inner circle.  Now he was just tired.  Even though he stood behind his own actions 100 percent, it still wasn’t nice to know he was about to lose his job.  Both his jobs.  And that’s definitely what Miyoshi wanted him to go to the control room for, right?  He’d deliberately pissed off an extremely powerful and wealthy client.  Amari had even said his very first day there that Oikawa wasn’t the kind of person you said no to.  Here in a casino, where everything was about money, Sakuma didn’t hold much hope that him having the moral higher ground would help his case even a little.

            “Where’s Jitsui?” asked Hatano suddenly.  “I don’t hear him anymore.  Why isn’t he talking to me?”

            Suddenly he looked like a little kid again, scared, but not for himself.  Sakuma nearly turned around and stormed back to the bar.  Oikawa didn’t get to mess with Jitsui either.  Didn’t matter how old the hacker was or wasn’t.

            “Odagiri has him,” said Amari.  “He’s fine.  He just . . .”

            “He was going down to the bar with an axe,” said Tazaki.  “So you see why Odagiri had to stop him.”

            “We should probably hurry and get to the control room,” said Amari nervously.  “Or else . . . well, I’m sure you can imagine what else.”

            Huh?  Did Jitsui have a violent side or something?  Sakuma hadn’t read anything in the tiny hacker’s file about him getting physically violent.  But then again, if he was now toting an axe . . .  And Miyoshi did say Jitsui got rather possessive about Hatano. 

            “Might as well face the music,” muttered Sakuma.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Miyoshi was waiting for them in the control room.  Odagiri and Jitsui were there too.  Jitsui looked absolutely murderous, but didn’t seem to be physically restrained at that moment.  And the fire axe was back in its display box on the wall, even if there was a bunch of broken glass on the floor around it.  Odagiri looked very harassed.  Even Miyoshi looked grim.  But when Sakuma, Hatano, Fukumoto, Amari, and Tazaki entered, his expression brightened minutely.

            “Don’t worry, Hatano,” said Jitsui immediately.  “I’m going to ruin him for you.”

            “No you’re not,” said Miyoshi.  “He’s too high profile to risk moving against.”

            “He touched Hatano.”

            “I’m fine, Jitsui,” said Hatano, going to his friend and sinking to the floor at his feet.  “Oikawa’s just a creepy old man.  But he didn’t hurt me.”

            “I heard what he was saying to you,” said Jitsui.  He slid out of his chair to sit right next to Hatano on the floor.  His voice was scarily calm, and Sakuma got the feeling that this was worse than him exploding and yelling.  “I know how you feel about people like that.  And he touched you.”

            “But I’m fine,” said Hatano.  “I promise.”

            “That was well handled, Detective,” said Miyoshi, drawing Sakuma’s attention toward him.

            Sakuma looked at Miyoshi expectantly.  “But?” he prompted.

            “Hm?  But what?” asked Miyoshi, genuinely looking confused.

            “But I pissed off a whale.  I said no to a man who I’m not supposed to say no to.  So now comes the part where you tell me I’m fired, right?”

            Miyoshi looked surprised, but only briefly.  Then he closed his eyes, gave a quick shrug, and smiled.  “No.  Now’s the part where I give you a raise.”

            “What?”

            “I didn’t stutter, Detective.  And there is no ‘but.’  You handled that well,” said Miyoshi.

            “I’m sorry, Miyoshi,” muttered Hatano.  “I screwed up again.”

            “You didn’t,” hissed Jitsui.

            “You really didn’t,” Miyoshi agreed.  “You had no warning that Oikawa was in the building.  And you can’t help being young, Asian, and attractive.  It’s not your fault he’s lusting after you.”

            Hatano muttered something unintelligible, and looked away.

            “Are you certain you’re alright?” asked Miyoshi.

            “Yeah.  It’s not like he did anything but touch me,” said Hatano.

            “That can be bad enough in its own right.”

            “Leave him alone, Miyoshi,” said Jitsui.

            Miyoshi looked at Jitsui sharply, but Jitsui met his gaze defiantly and didn’t back down.

            “Are we banning Oikawa from the casino?” asked Amari.

            “No,” said Miyoshi.  “Not over this.  Not yet anyway.” 

            Jitsui looked furious.  “But –”

            “He flirted with Hatano and got a little too hands on,” said Miyoshi.  “Make no mistake, I have no intention of letting him near either you or Hatano ever again.  But he did nothing illegal.  I can’t permanently ban him for that.”

            “Well, technically,” said Amari.  “He did proposition Hatano.  And since Hatano’s only sixtee –”

            Tazaki dug an elbow into Amari’s side.  Several pairs of eyes looked at Sakuma, trying to be subtle, but not exactly succeeding.

            Sakuma pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.  Yes, if he’d had any doubts before, which he really actually hadn’t, those doubts would be gone now.  They all knew he was a cop.  And Hatano was Shimano Ryousuke.  Which meant that he was only sixteen.

            Technically, as an officer of the law, Sakuma should have arrested Oikawa for propositioning a minor.  And he knew that he was going to hate himself for not doing so, for a long time to come.  But there was a heaping pile of reasons that he really couldn’t arrest the bastard.  Chief among them being that D-Agency had built a flawless identity for Hatano, saying that he was twenty-one.  Unless they were willing to give that identity of Hatano’s up, Sakuma didn’t have a case against Oikawa.  Besides, Sakuma knew that even if he did, Oikawa’s money would make the charges disappear.  Propositioning a minor in and of itself could be a hard charge to get to stick, even when million dollar lawyers weren’t involved.  Especially here in Vegas.  And added to those reasons was the trouble Sakuma would be in with his real boss for “blowing his cover.”  Which Sakuma would have done in an instant if he thought he had a real chance at getting Oikawa locked up.  But there was no chance of that.  Sakuma would be officially blowing his unofficially already blown cover for nothing. 

            The electric lock on the door clicked open, and Kaminaga hurried in, providing the men of D-Agency with a nice, convenient distraction from Amari’s screw up.

            “You’re here.  Excellent,” said Miyoshi.  “That makes all of us.”

            Kaminaga offered him a half hearted wave, but looked immediately to Hatano.  “You alright, Hatano?”

            “Fine,” said Hatano.  “I keep telling people Oikawa didn’t do anything to me.  You don’t need to treat me like some kind of victim.”

            “That’s not exactly true,” said Sakuma, even though he knew it would probably be better to shut up instead of drawing all eyes to him.  But he still wanted to say his piece.  “Oikawa scared you.”

            Hatano bristled.  “No he didn’t.  I’m not a child!  I can take care of myself!”

            To Sakuma’s knowledge, Shimano Ryousuke had not been sexually assaulted.  He’d gone into what could only be described as a berserker rage and killed the men who’d been planning to rape and murder him when he woke up in the middle of their snuff film shooting.  Their colleagues had handed Shimano over to an illegal underground fighting ring, that kept him caged, and forced him to fight for his life, until D-Agency found and freed him.  The details on just how they’d found and freed him were unclear.  But what was clear was that Hatano’s life before being taken in by D-Agency had left deep psychological scars.  Sakuma had gotten a glimpse of them today when Hatano froze at Oikawa’s touch.  Sakuma was no psychiatrist.  But he had known enough victims of enough violent crimes in his years as a cop to know one thing.  They needed their families.  They needed to open up to their families.  And D-Agency was the only family the boy had now.  Hatano needed to not shut them out.

            “You probably can take care of yourself,” said Sakuma.  “But look around.  You don’t have to.”

            For a second, Hatano looked mad.  But then reason, and the truth of Sakuma’s words began to sink in.  His expression changed from mad to flustered, and he looked away, blushing slightly, and muttering something unintelligible.

            Jitsui, on the other hand, looked pleased.  Especially when Hatano leaned in against him.  Make no mistake, there were still glints of murder in Jitsui’s eyes.  But he looked happy to have Hatano leaning on him for support. 

            “Detective,” said Miyoshi after he deemed enough seconds of silence had passed.  “I’m going to trouble you to stay here in the control room again.  I think our boys will be better behaved for you this time.  Especially since I’m asking Fukumoto to stay as well.”

            Fukumoto nodded his assent.  So did Sakuma, because it wasn’t like he really had much of a choice, despite it being phrased as a request.

            “Odagiri and Amari, you’ll be with me, of course,” said Miyoshi.  “Tazaki, Kaminaga, do as you will.”

            Sakuma saw Tazaki and Kaminaga meet each other’s eyes.  They each seemed to know what the other was thinking without exchanging words, because they both nodded to each other at the same time.  Then Tazaki sat down on the floor with Jitsui and Hatano, while Kaminaga walked over to the control room closet, opened it, and pulled out a suit jacket.

            “I think I’ll tag along with you, Miyoshi,” said Kaminaga, “Just to beef up our security a bit.”  With his suit jacket on, and his waistcoat covered, Kaminaga now looked more like part of the casino’s security team than a blackjack dealer.  Sakuma found it a little disconcerting, though he had no idea why.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know they all played multiple roles in D-Agency’s organization.  And he was well aware of Kaminaga’s role as a hitman, which should have been far more disturbing than him morphing from a dealer into a security guard.

            Sakuma tried not to let it bother him.  It shouldn’t have mattered to him if Kaminaga wanted to be a blackjack dealer, or a security guard, or a beautiful assistant to Tazaki during his magic shows.  His role as a hitman was the only one that should bother him, and there was nothing he could do about that right now.  So he watched as Miyoshi and his three criminal comrades departed the control room, then looked back at the ones who’d stayed.  And he suddenly found himself wishing he dared to take pictures of these career criminals, because he could have gotten an image that no one in the Metro would have believed.

            Hatano and Jitsui were still sitting on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other.  And in Hatano’s arms was a live white rabbit, conjured by Tazaki.  Sakuma didn’t even want to know where Tazaki had been hiding that thing, because it was no tiny baby bunny.  It was a huge, floppy eared thing that could rival a cat in size.  And Fukumoto was offering Jitsui and Hatano a plastic wrapped plate of what appeared to be homemade chocolate chip cookies. 

            Right there, they were the very image of dangerous criminals.

            What the hell, Sakuma decided, pulled out his phone, and quickly snapped a picture.  But not to turn over to the Metro.  He thought Alain would like to see that Shimano Ryousuke was doing alright, even if Alain hadn’t been the one to save him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Miyoshi prided himself on being professional.  He presented himself as a businessman, first and foremost.  He was the adopted son and heir apparent of D-Agency’s founder and owner, and he always did his best to live up to his adoptive father’s expectations, because he owed Yuuki a debt that he could never repay.

            But there were days like today, when he wanted to throw his professionalism to the wayside, and destroy the people who’d pissed him off, no matter how influential or powerful they were, or how untouchable they were supposed to be. 

            Outside, Miyoshi smiled genially as he greeted Oikawa in the baccarat room.  Inside he seethed and thought about how very easy it would be to put his fingernails through Oikawa’s carotid artery.  He could get away with it too.  He knew he could.  Kaminaga on his own could probably take out Oikawa’s entire entourage before they could draw on them.  But Amari and Odagiri wouldn’t just stand there looking pretty.  Jitsui could wipe all images of Oikawa and his guards out of the casino’s footage so perfectly that you’d never even notice there were men missing from the frames.  He’d done it before.  His editing software was well and truly terrifying.  The only complication would be the handsome detective, who was doubtlessly watching the baccarat game on the control room’s screens.  But it’s not like they couldn’t deal with Sakuma.  All it would take was the proper dosage of ketamine and he would wake up tomorrow with no memory of today. 

            But no.  Yuuki would not want Oikawa’s death on their hands.  He was too high profile.  And too deeply tied to the Metro.  They would look into his disappearance even if no body was ever found.  Oikawa had to be gotten rid of in a way that D-Agency could not be implicated in, and in a way that brought all his crimes into the light, so that a pall fell over all of his known associates.  Especially those slimy bastards in government.  Plans for that were in the works.  And if Miyoshi played things right, this would be what brought Sakuma over to D-Agency’s side. 

            So Miyoshi would remain professional.  Even if he was irate inside.  Even though every fiber of his being was demanding that he eliminate the threat toward the boy who’d practically become his little brother.  He focused on the cards, the best he could.  He wasn’t playing as well as usual that evening, but then, neither was Oikawa.  Miyoshi could tell his opponent was distracted.  He tried not to think about why, because that only made him want to murder the man even more.  But then Oikawa had to go and open his stupid ass mouth.

            “So, Miyoshi.  I noticed something interesting in the bar, on my way up here this evening,” said Oikawa between hands.

            Miyoshi carefully kept his smile in place.  “There are many interesting things in D-Agency.”

            “Not like this one.  He was an impudent thing.  Brunette.  Asian.  A tiny little thing, who looked like he should be in high school, not working in a casino.  Goes by the name Hatano, I believe,” said Oikawa, his desire showing naked on his face.  “I take it you know the sweet little morsel I mean?”

            Miyoshi had to fold his hands together to keep them from doing anything impulsive.  Out the corner of his eye he saw Amari clenching a fist.  And he knew without looking that Kaminaga had clasped his hands together, so that he had easy access to the knives up his sleeves.  And Odagiri was certainly no less ready than Kaminaga to eliminate their problem.

            “Yes.  I know him well.  Hatano is part of my security team, as well as a close family friend,” said Miyoshi, hoping that would be enough to warn Oikawa off.  Knowing that it wouldn’t.

            “What exactly do they feed him to keep him looking so young?” asked Oikawa.

            “Hm.  Well, he’s been more or less taken in by the head of my security team and his best friend.  You’d have to ask them,” said Miyoshi.  Another subtle warning, wasted.  Though that one hadn’t exactly been true.  When Hatano first joined D-Agency, Fukumoto had been intent on feeding him up and getting him to a healthy weight.  But Hatano lived in the casino, down on sublevel D with the entirety of D-Agency’s inner circle.  Or at the very least, where they all had their own rooms.  So while Fukumoto was constantly around to try to mother him, and Odagiri was his direct superior during business hours, they hadn’t exactly adopted him or anything.  If anyone had done that, it was Jitsui.  But trying to explain that was too damn complicated, and wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

            “I’ll be frank, Miyoshi,” said Oikawa, giving an oily smile.  “That boy is the most exquisite thing I’ve seen in a long time.  How much?”

            Miyoshi’s smile turned frigid.  “I hope you’re asking me how much I plan to bet in the next round, Oikawa.”

            “Don’t be coy,” said Oikawa.  “You know plain well that I’m asking how much you want for the boy.”

            “My employees aren’t for sale, Oikawa,” said Miyoshi coldly.  “Or for propositioning.  Especially not ones who are my friends.”

            “You and I both know everything, and everyone, has a price,” said Oikawa.  “Name yours for the boy, and I’ll wire it into your account right here, right now.”

            “I’ll be frank now, Oikawa,” said Miyoshi.  “The answer is no.”

            “Mr. Miyoshi Yuuki,” said Oikawa, “I don’t think you understand.  I want that boy.  And I will have him.  With or without your permission.”

            “Mr. Masayuki Oikawa,” said Miyoshi flashing his softest, most dangerous smile, _“Pack your shit and leave.”_

            In an instant all Oikawa’s charm had evaporated.  “What?”

            “You heard me,” said Miyoshi.  “Pack.  Your shit.  And leave.”

            Oikawa stood angrily.  His guards did the same.  Odagiri and Kaminaga stepped forward, as Miyoshi stood as well.

            “You’re throwing me out?  You can’t throw me out!”

            “Oh, but I am,” said Miyoshi.  “Get the fuck out, and know that if I ever see you on D-Agency property again, I’ll make you regret it.”

            Oikawa stood quaking in anger as he glared at Miyoshi.  And then, suddenly, his shaking stopped and he looked smug.  Angry still, but smug.  “I don’t think I’ll be going quite yet,” he sneered at Miyoshi.  “I think I’d rather hear what your father has to say about this first.”

            “Did my son stutter?” asked a voice that was deeper, and even colder than Miyoshi’s from the doorway.  “Well, in case he did, I’ll repeat it for you, Oikawa,” said Yuuki.  “Pack your shit and leave.”

            Miyoshi smirked, and nodded to his father.  Oikawa turned purple.  He started spluttering uncontrollably, uttering halves of words that were definitely curses, and poking at the air in what was probably supposed to be a pointing gesture. 

            Yuuki used his cane to push the baccarat room door wide open.  “You can go on your own, with what remains of your dignity, or I can have you dragged out by my security.  The choice is yours.”

            Oikawa chose to leave.  But not before sweeping everything on the table off it, and onto the floor, and knocking over as many chairs as he could reach in a fit of rage.  Then he grabbed his hat, crammed it on his head, and stormed toward the exit.  But before he reached it he paused, and glared back at Miyoshi.

            “I always get what I want.  You remember that.  If people don’t just give it to me, I have no problem taking it.”

            “You’ll have a problem if you try to take it this time,” Miyoshi promised. 

            “We’ll see,” said Oikawa as he stormed out of the room.  “We’ll see.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Sakuma wasn’t sure quite what he was feeling as he watched the drama unfolding on the control room screens.  Jitsui had brought up the footage from the baccarat room, complete with sound, and put it on the large central screens in the center of his wall.  He got to see Oikawa’s ridiculous expression and purple coloration when he lost it.  And he got to see Miyoshi looking . . .

            Well.  Sakuma didn’t even know how to describe the way Miyoshi looked just then.  Cool was a gross understatement.  So was awesome.  Sakuma didn’t know how it was possible to look so poised and in control while appearing so obviously livid, but Miyoshi managed it perfectly.  He had always been a beautiful man.  But something about the way he flared up when he was being protective made him suddenly appear even more gorgeous.  Almost like an angry angel.

            Sakuma wouldn’t deny he admired Miyoshi for his looks.  But previously, he’d only admired the man for his looks.  Well, for his intellect as well.  But he’d always assumed that Miyoshi, as a person, was horribly selfish, and just horrible in general.  Since he was a career criminal and all that.  He had blood on his hands.  But seeing him like this now, protecting a kid from a predator, a predator who was a high roller no less, well, it made Miyoshi suddenly seem like he was a decent human being. 

            So he has people he cares about too, Sakuma thought, as he managed to tear his eyes away from the screen for a moment to see the reactions of the others.  And he couldn’t say he was surprised to see that none of them were surprised by Miyoshi’s reaction.

            Hatano’s expression was stony.  Like he didn’t know what to think or how to feel about someone trying to buy him, like a cut of meat from the grocery store.  Looking closely, Sakuma thought that he could see traces of fear, and dread, but they didn’t seem so immediate.  They were like the fear for a monster under the bed.  Something that would keep him up at night, even if he knew it couldn’t actually hurt him.  And Sakuma got the feeling that he did know that.  Or at least believed it  There was no trace of terror about the idea that Oikawa might actually get his filthy hands on him.  Hatano had complete faith that D-Agency would keep him safe.

            The expressions that the others wore, made Sakuma certain Hatano’s faith was not misplaced.  Fukumoto sat absolutely still, but his expression was one of silent fury.  Tazaki kept a hand on Hatano’s shoulder, and smiled grimly at the way Miyoshi had put Oikawa in his place.  But his eyes smoldered. 

            And Jitsui . . . Jitsui was the scariest one of all.

            The other small boy sat with his chair right behind Hatano’s.  His arms were casually flung around Hatano, in a loose hug, and he rested his chin on top of Hatano’s shoulder.  The shoulder Tazaki didn’t have a hand on.  His expression was calm, almost serene, but Jitsui’s eyes . . . if Tazaki’s eyes were smoldering, Jitsui’s eyes were going on an arson spree.  Sakuma almost swore he could see the dancing flames reflected in them.  He wondered how long Oikawa was left for this world, when Jitsui so obviously wanted to kill him for this transgression.

            But he also wondered if this was something he could get away with not reporting to his superiors.

            It was wrong.  And he knew it.  To want D-Agency just to take care of Oikawa, and sweep whatever mess they made under the same rug they hid all their other messes under.  Sakuma shouldn’t do anything to facilitate that for them.  But Sakuma hated pedophiles, and one as rich and powerful as Oikawa would be nearly impossible for the justice system to deal with in any reasonable amount of time.  If ever.    But the law was the law, and Sakuma was a servant of the law.  He couldn’t take it into his own hands, or turn a blind eye when other did.  And he’d already asked Honma to find out what he knew about Oikawa.  Sakuma decided that he would check in with Honma as soon as his shift ended, to see what his fellow detective had dredged up on the pervert.  He would do his job, and he would see Oikawa brought to justice right.

            And, he decided, it was time to give Alain a call.  Even though it probably meant his old friend would jump on the first plane to Vegas he could catch.  Chances of Oikawa laying a finger on Hatano were extremely low, with all of D-Agency watching out for him.  But it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes on the kid.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: Another chapter finished. :)  And a longish one too.  I hope you enjoy it!  What did you think of protective Miyoshi?  His character is altered slightly from the anime, because there he’s only an unofficial leader of the spies.  But here he’s officially their leader, right under Yuuki.

 

            Oh, and I have a question I’d like your imput on.  Next chapter I’m planning to have a conversation between Yuuki and Miyoshi.  How do you feel about Miyoshi calling Yuuki “Father” ?  Does that seem too weird?  Their relationship is closer in this AU than in the anime, and Yuuki has raised Miyoshi since his early teen years.  But if you think it’s too much, I’d like to know.  Also, if it was a very informal situation (or a panicked/emergency situation), would you have a problem with Miyoshi calling Yuuki “Dad” ? 

            Coming up next chapter: you get to see Sublevel D, where our boys live.  And Alain enters the fic!


	5. Hatano's Arc: Part 4

            Once Oikawa had been escorted out of the casino, and the orders had been circulated that he was never allowed to set foot in their establishment again, Miyoshi went to Yuuki’s private office, accompanied only by Amari.  Technically, he didn’t need a bodyguard.  Miyoshi almost never ordered anyone from his security team or inner circle to escort him around the casino, and tonight was no exception.  But tonight everyone seemed wound tight, and his three friends who’d been there with him when he confronted Oikawa made it clear that he was getting an escort until he returned to Sublevel D.  Which, thankfully, was where Yuuki’s private office was.

            After taking the elevator down to the level that D-Agency’s inner circle called home, Miyoshi tried to dismiss Amari, but Amari was adamant about going with him.

            “For moral support,” Amari said.  “In case Yuuki-san’s not pleased with how tonight was handled.”

            Miyoshi didn’t think that would be a problem, and got the feeling that his friends simply wanted a source in the room when he spoke with his adoptive father, so that they would know what was spoken of.  Yuuki seemed to think this too.  When Amari entered, he looked at the younger man as though peering into his soul, then pointed to the door.

            “You are dismissed for the evening.”

            “Yes sir,” said Amari, nodding deeply, but not bowing.  Every man in D-Agency knew better than to bow to Yuuki while wearing a suit.

            Once Amari was gone, Yuuki motioned for Miyoshi to take a seat.  Miyoshi did so, but not in the chair opposite Yuuki’s, on the other side of his desk.  Another chair rested against the wall, on the same side of the desk as his adoptive father sat.  Miyoshi went to that one and dragged it forward, finally taking a seat several feet from Yuuki. 

            Yuuki opened one of the lower drawers of his desk to pull out a bottle of cognac and two glasses.  He poured a small amount into each glass, then handed one to Miyoshi.  “Have you checked on Hatano?”

            “Not yet,” said Miyoshi, swirling the liquid in his glass.  “I trust the others to make sure he’s alright.”

            “In other words, you’re avoiding Jitsui, who is probably in a mood.”

            Miyoshi let a little bit of impishness shine through in his expression.  “I am most certainly avoiding Jitsui, who is most certainly in a mood.”

            On another night, Yuuki might have smiled very slightly at that.  But tonight had been far too stressful.  For everyone. 

            “Your handling of Oikawa in the baccarat room . . .”

            Miyoshi tensed slightly and waited for judgment.

            “. . . was well done.”

            With those words, Miyoshi could relax.  On another night, he too probably would have smiled.  He did feel a surge of pride, as he always did when he had Yuuki’s approval.  But mostly tonight, he just felt tired.  He tightened his grip on his drink and nodded acknowledgement of the praise.  “Our plans regarding the detective will have to undergo revision.  Also, in regards to Hatano’s actions . . . I’m sure you saw the footage.”

            “I did.”  Yuuki sipped his cognac.  “What are your thoughts in regards to that?”

            “I’m inclined to let it slide,” said Miyoshi.  “Even without Sakuma-san’s interventions, he very well may have stopped himself short of killing Oikawa.  There’s no way to prove it one way or the other.  Punishing him for what he might have done, when we’ll never know, seems like a bad precedent to set.”

            “Indeed,” Yuuki agreed. 

            “I wish we could confine him to Sublevel D for awhile,” said Miyoshi.  “But I know that trying to do that would only make things worse.  As long as he remains inside the casino, I think it will be enough.”

            “You have my leave to increase security if you deem it necessary,” said Yuuki.

            “We just hired a new batch.  I believe what we have will be sufficient,” said Miyoshi.  “And our first line of defense will always be surveillance.  I intend to leave any changes to that department to Jitsui.”

            “Don’t let him fire the entire team,” was the only stipulation Yuuki gave in response to this.

            “I think it’s more likely that he’ll make them pay for their mistake than replace them all,” said Miyoshi.

            “Probably.  But he tends to lose his head when Hatano is involved.”

            Miyoshi smirked and sipped his cognac, remembering the day they’d brought Hatano home.  Jitsui had been the one who’d made that decision, despite knowing next to nothing about the boy.  Hatano had reached through the bars of the cage he’d been held in, and managed to kill one of his captors.  Why this mattered to Jitsui was the fact that the same man had been trying to kill Jitsui with an assault rifle at the time, and Jitsui’s own pistol had jammed.  The others hadn’t been sure what to make about Jitsui’s sudden attachment to the kid.  Jitsui had never seemed really attached to anyone before.  He was one of them, certainly, a man of D-Agency, and loyal to them.  Miyoshi would have even gone so far as to say that Jitsui was their friend.  But back then he had been new, and aloof, unused to people he could rely on, and still not completely certain about where he stood in D-Agency.  A small part of why he’d wanted to bring Hatano home might have been as a test for them.  To see what they’d let him get away with, or if he would have to threaten to quit over the matter, and then what they would do in response to that.  But no one protested when Jitsui led the filthy, half feral child to their ride, and brought him back to D-Agency, so if it had been a test, they passed.  But if it had been a test, it had only been a small part of Jitsui’s reasoning.  Because it was clear from the onset that Jitsui was well and truly charmed by Hatano.

            Bringing strangers to Sublevel D was prohibited.  Not even cleaning staff was allowed on the inner circle’s private floor.  But that wasn’t a problem.  Jitsui simply got a hotel room for the boy in the hotel part of the casino.  He’d loaned him clothes, got him fed, and then while he slept, used the internet to find out who exactly the boy was.  The boy had given them his name.  Shimano Ryousuke.  So his past hadn’t been hard for a multi-lingual hacker like Jitsui to find.  Then, realizing that his young savior had no one to go back to, and nowhere to go, Jitsui decided right then and there that he was going to keep him.  That had gotten a little bit of resistance from his colleagues.  Mainly because Jitsui was going about the matter the same way someone might impulsively decide to take in a stray cat or dog.  And also because Jitsui wanted to officially adopt Shimano, with himself listed as the legal guardian.  And D-Agency was well aware that Jitsui was only seventeen, not twenty-one, even though his identification papers would stand up to any checks.  Then there was also the matter of the way Shimano and Jitsui had started looking at each other.  It was plain to see that they adored one another, but no one was quite sure just what kind of adoration that was.  Even if it was innocent now, there was no guarantee their feelings would stay that way.  And something that every other member of D-Agency could agree on was that this was reason enough on its own not to let Jitsui legally adopt Shimano. 

            They’d compromised, and Shimano had been brought into D-Agency, given the new identity of Hatano, and papers to prove he was eighteen, the age that would make him a legal adult in the US.  It would be another three years before he reached the age where it was legal for him to work in most areas of the casino, but trying to claim he was twenty-one when he was only actually thirteen would have been too blatant a lie. 

            Three years had passed since then, and Hatano was now able to work on the casino floor.  He’d passed the time until then serving as a bodyguard for Miyoshi and Yuuki when they left the casino, learning the ins and outs of D-Agency’s off-book business, honing his already lethal skills as a martial arts prodigy, delivering a few messages for Yuuki and Miyoshi when those messages needed to be delivered with his fists, and worming his way into the hearts of every other inner circle member.  Through it all, Jitsui had kept a close eye on Hatano, always watching out for him and doting on him.  There was no doubt that Hatano was the person Jitsui loved most in the world.  And there was no doubt that Jitsui would, and had, gone to extreme lengths to protect him.  Just as he had when several members of another underground fighting ring that had been a sometimes rival, sometimes partner to the one D-Agency had dismantled, came sniffing around, hinting that Shimano Ryousuke should rightfully belong to them. 

            “I’ll keep Jitsui from doing anything too drastic,” said Miyoshi.  Then he amended, “To anyone except Oikawa, that is.  I’ll do my best to reign him in there, but if he thinks Oikawa has a real shot at getting to close to Hatano –”

            “Then he will do what is necessary,” said Yuuki.  He didn’t look like he disapproved. 

            The two men sat in companionable silence for several minutes as they drank their cognac.  Yuuki returned to looking over some papers.  Miyoshi simply took a few minutes to relax.  Since his father hadn’t dismissed him from his presence, this was essentially his way of telling Miyoshi to take a few minutes for himself.  And Miyoshi appreciated it.  He wished that he could have stayed more than just a few minutes.  But he had to check in with the others, make sure Hatano was truly alright, and that Jitsui wasn’t off crashing weather satellites again.

            “Thank you for the cognac, Father,” said Miyoshi, as he regretfully stood from his chair and replaced it against the wall.  “Shall I take your glass?”

            Yuuki nodded, without looking up.  Miyoshi retrieved his empty glass and started toward the door.

            “I’ll leave it to your discretion how you wish to proceed with the detective,” Yuuki said, just as Miyoshi reached it.  “Though your original plan may still be salvageable.”

            Miyoshi glanced back, confused.  “Oikawa will not be returning to the casino.  It will be rather difficult to arrange for his path to cross with Sakuma’s again.”

            “You may not need to,” said Yuuki.

            “My apologies, but I don’t quite take your meaning.”

            Yuuki didn’t seem inclined to explain.  “Either you’ll understand when it becomes relevant, or it will never become relevant, and you won’t need to understand.”

            Miyoshi knew he was missing something, but he couldn’t tell what.  Something Yuuki had seen that he hadn’t.  Well, he wasn’t likely to figure it out just standing here.  And he did have work to do.

            “I suppose there is a reason I haven’t displaced you as head of D-Agency yet,” Miyoshi said lightly, as he went to leave again.

            “You’re a hundred years too early,” said Yuuki said.  And anyone outside of D-Agency would have thought from his tone that he was looking down on Miyoshi.  But Miyoshi could hear the note of good humor in his adoptive father’s tone. 

            Miyoshi smiled.  “It’s as you say.”  While it did frustrate him that he couldn’t see whatever it was that Yuuki did, he knew better than to be too disappointed in himself over it.  Yuuki wasn’t disappointed in him, and trusted that he would figure it out if he saw it start to unfold.  Then, next time he was in a position similar to this one, Miyoshi would know what to look for.  There was no teacher like experience, after all. 

            And he was in no hurry to take over D-Agency, despite his little quip to Yuuki.  His father was still in his prime, despite what some fools might think, because of his silver hair and cane.  If those idiots bothered to take a closer look, they’d see Yuuki’s body was still well muscled and fighting fit, underneath his expensive suits.  And that was to say nothing of his mind.  D-Agency had the best possible man at its reigns.

            Whatever came their way, they would be ready for it.

 

* * *

 

 

            Hatano leaned back against the tile wall of the shower, and let the scorching water flow over him.  He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam.  There were many, many things he loved about his life in D-Agency.  And the showers were definitely high on his list of favorites.

            Life here was so different to everything he’d always known before.  His childhood was a series of fuzzy memories, of life in a small but comfy house, two loving parents, and a really big dog.  But all that ended on their family trip to France.  The only thing Hatano remembered really vividly about his early life was when it ended.  So stupidly and pointlessly.  It was just a question of being in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time, or so he’d been told by his friends here at D-Agency, when they dug up the reports of the incident for him to try to help him understand it.  They walked down the wrong alley and wound up in the middle of a turf war between rival crime organizations.  All Hatano could remember of that was the gunshots, the sight of his parents dead on the ground, and the splatter of their blood on his face.

            The warehouse where he was supposed to die was a brief but haunting memory.  His time in the Ring seemed like the main part of his life.  Probably because he’d been older, and he’d had time to get used to it, and grew to be a teenager there.  It wasn’t the worst part of his life.  The alley and the warehouse tied for that honor.  But it hadn’t been a good place.  Having to constantly fight, always being in pain, knowing that there would never be anyone to help him, not even the police, because he was a murderer now, he’d killed those men in the warehouse, and who knew how many others, when they threw him into fights, and he either had to fight tooth and nail and take his opponents down, or be beaten to death by them.  He knew what police did to murderers.  The people there told him and made sure he knew that they’d make sure the police knew what he was.  He’d been so sure there was no way out.

            Now, from the lofty wisdom he’d acquired at age sixteen, Hatano could see that prison would have been better than the Ring.  He would have been in a cell instead of a cage, but at least he would have been allowed out of it more.

            But D-Agency was much preferred to either prison or the Ring.  He had a huge room here.  His bed alone was bigger than his cage used to be.  He had his own shower, that he could stay in as long as he wanted, and the water could be as hot as he wanted.  And there was always soap, and even shampoo and conditioner.  The only rule was that he had to use the shampoo and conditioner.  On Miyoshi’s orders.  The man had been horrified when he learned Hatano was just using bar soap on his hair.  That had been back in the early days, when Hatano was so scared of losing everything they’d just given him, that he would have drunk the shampoo if Miyoshi had told him to.  Now he knew that he didn’t technically have to use the shampoo and conditioner, and that Miyoshi would whine and pester him, but not take any real action against him.  But the habit kind of stuck, and even if it hadn’t, Hatano would have been happy to use it just to make Miyoshi happy.  His boss didn’t ask much of him.  Just that he crack a skull, here and there, which for Hatano was no big thing at all.

            There was always food here.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry.  His biggest problem now was how Fukumoto was always trying to feed him up.  What a problem to have.  Too much food and friends who doted on him too much.

            Friends who’d become his family.  The best thing about D-Agency.  The highest on his list.  Even better than the shower and the food, and his room.  People who weren’t just out to hurt him.  Who would hurt anyone who tried to hurt him.  And in turn, he would happily kill anyone who wanted to lay a finger on one of them.  They had saved him from a life of misery.  He owed them everything, but they asked almost nothing of him.  That wouldn’t stop him from trying to repay them.  He would happily spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of their friendship.

            He really, really loved it here. 

            When he started getting dizzy from breathing in so much steam, Hatano turned off the water and stumbled out of the shower.  He grabbed his towel, but just wrapped it around his waist instead of actually using it to dry off, and left the bathroom, still dripping wet.  It was his bathroom, connected to his bedroom, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone else slipping in all the water that was dripping off him.

            Jitsui was waiting for him when he got out.  He was perched on Hatano’s bed, reading a book, which he set aside the moment Hatano emerged.

            “Hi,” Hatano said, his voice a little hoarse from all the steam.

            “Hi,” Jitsui returned.

            Hatano made his way to his bed, where his pajamas were folded next to his pillow, right where he’d left them that afternoon, when he got up.  He quickly pulled them on, because he knew it did something to Jitsui when his best friend saw all his scars.  And Jitsui was already wound up plenty tight today as it was, all thanks to that pervert creep Oikawa.  That was why he was here now.  Hatano had been pretty much expecting him to be there when he got out of the shower. 

            Once dressed, he crawled across his bed so that he was next to Jitsui, then leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jitsui’s shoulder.  His friend put a gentle hand on top of his head, uncaring of the fact that he was still dripping from his shower.

            “You know you’re safe here,” Jitsui said softly.

            “I know.”

            “If I even think he has a chance of hurting you, I’ll destroy him,” Jitsui said.  “I don’t care how much collateral damage I cause.  I won’t let him touch you again.”

            “Don’t make Miyoshi mad.  Please,” said Hatano.

            “I won’t, if I don’t have to,” Jitsui promised.  “But if it’s between making Miyoshi mad and making you safe, you know which one I’ll choose.”

            Hatano did.  And he appreciated it.  He hoped Jitsui knew.  He was pretty sure he did.

            “I screwed up again today.”

            “No, you didn’t,” said Jitsui.

            “I did.”

            “It’s not a problem that you froze up.”

            “But after I unfroze, I almost killed Oikawa,” Hatano admitted.  “I was raising my hand to put my fingers through his throat.  I would have killed him, right there in the middle of the bar, in full view of many people, if the detective hadn’t stopped me.”

            “But you didn’t.”

            “But I almost did,” said Hatano.  “And you know it.  Everyone knows it by now.  I’m sure it’s clear on the footage.”

            “But what’s important is you didn’t,” said Jitsui. 

            “That’s not enough to keep Miyoshi and Yuuki-san from overlooking how badly I almost screwed up,” said Hatano.  “I’m in trouble.”

            “You’re not in trouble.”

            “Do you think I’m going to be grounded or sent away?”

            “Neither,” said Jitsui firmly.  “Because nothing happened.”

            “Coming that close to screwing up and only stopping because someone stops me is just as bad as screwing up all the way,” Hatano insisted.  “I deserve to be in trouble for that.”

            Jitsui pulled back an arm’s length from Hatano and placed one hand on Hatano’s chest, over the right side.  Beneath his, hand, and beneath Hatano’s pajama shirt, was a hideous scar, his worst souvenir from that botched snuff film.  Jitsui’s eyes smoldered briefly, as he gripped the fabric of Hatano’s pajamas.

            “You don’t deserve any of what happened to you.  You never did.  And you don’t deserve to be in trouble now, for something you didn’t even do.”

            Hatano leaned forward to put his head back on Jitsui’s shoulder again. 

            “You don’t need to worry,” Jitsui said.

            “I’m not.  Not really.  Yuuki-san and Miyoshi have always been more than fair to me.  I didn’t mean to disappoint them.”  It almost physically hurt.  The thing Hatano was feeling now.  Knowing how close he’d come to making a horrible mistake that would have left Yuuki and Miyoshi in a horrible position.  After everything they’d done for him.  And they still weren’t going to really do anything bad to Hatano for it.  That was maybe what was bothering Hatano.  He felt like he deserved worse than he knew he would get.  D-Agency had done so much for him, was still doing so much for him, and he’d come so close to letting them down.  He felt like he didn’t deserve what he had.  Like he’d never deserve what he now had.  The thought just made him feel really, really sad and inadequate.  He didn’t know why the others were all willing to do so much for him.

            Jitsui wrapped his arms around Hatano, when Hatano started shaking.  Then he over-balanced them so they both flopped down on the bed, lying on their sides, facing each other. 

            “You’re tired, and you had a shock,” said Jitsui, his voice as soft and soothing as silk.  “Everything looks worse than it really is to you, right now.  I promise you, things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

            “I –”

            “I said I promise,” said Jitsui.  “You trust me, don’t you?”

            Hatano nodded.  Jitsui leaned in to kiss his forehead. 

            “Then sleep.  I promise, everything will look better tomorrow.”

            “Stay with me until I fall asleep?” Hatano pleaded.  He knew it was a stupid, childish, selfish request.  But he asked anyway, knowing Jitsui would never say no.

            “Of course,” said Jitsui, just like Hatano knew he would.  Because it was Jitsui that would make everything better.  Not tomorrow.

            Hatano closed his eyes.  “Don’t tell Miyoshi I’m going to bed with wet hair,” he muttered, already feeling exhaustion setting in.

            He heard Jitsui’s smile in his voice.  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Kaminaga slumped down onto his favorite couch in Sublevel D’s private lounge.  His legs ached from his ankles to his knees from being on his feet all night, despite the gel soles he wore in his shoes.  “Tazaki!” he called lazily.  “Tazaki, come help me out!”

            His closest friend appeared, as he knew he would.  Tazaki’s shifts ended earlier than most everyone else’s.  But they started earlier too, and were kind of split up, with hours off in between.  His shows were spaced throughout the day.  After his final show, which usually ended at nine, he often returned to the secure floor that was set aside for D-Agency’s inner circle, and napped until the others started getting off their shifts.  But tonight, he had passed time in the control room with Jitsui and Hatano, until Hatano’s shift ended.  (By now Miyoshi and Yuuki knew better than to force him to quit early, and send him to his room, lest they make the casino start to feel like a cage.)  Tazaki had accompanied Hatano back to Sublevel D, even though he probably hadn’t needed an escort.  Jitsui had been watching all the cameras like a hawk for any signs of Oikawa or any of his known associates.  But it was a weight off everyone’s mind knowing Hatano had someone to make sure he got back to D-Agency’s quarters.  Otherwise there was always the chance that Hatano might decide to do something reckless and bolt.

            “Tazaki,” said Kaminaga, as soon as he saw his friend.  “I have need of your magic hands.”

            “Some days I think that’s the only reason you like me,” said Tazaki, smiling lazily.

            “Then some days you would be correct,” Kaminaga teased.

            Tazaki knelt and pulled off Kaminaga’s shoes, then socks.  Then he pulled Kaminaga’s feet up onto the couch and took a seat at the opposite end, resting his friend’s feet in his lap.  Kaminaga closed his eyes as his friend began to massage the soles of his feet, using his magic touch to work away all the stress that had been building up as he stood all evening.

            “How’s Hatano?” he asked.

            “Shaken, I think, but not really scared.  He knows we’re not letting Oikawa anywhere near him.  This was just a startling and unpleasant reminder for him that there are still pieces of trash like that out there,” said Tazaki.

            “Jitsui’s back now?”

            “Yes.  He went straight to Hatano’s room, as soon as he got back.  I think Hatano was still in his shower.  I saw Jitsui sit down to wait on his bed.”

            Kaminaga processed this information with interest.  There was a long running bet about whether or not Hatano and Jitsui were a couple, or just really close and kind of codependent.  Kaminaga was inclined to think they were the latter, since he’d never witnessed any public displays of affection between them, or anything else that made them really seem like they were definitely a couple.  Jitsui did like to touch Hatano a lot, and had been seen chewing on his ears from time to time, or otherwise playfully nipping at him, but to Kaminaga that had always seemed childish, almost puppy-like.  Not like he was flirting.  But then again, you never knew with those two.  And no one was brave enough to ask them to their faces. 

            “The Detective seemed particularly useful today,” said Tazaki.

            “Hm?  How so?”

            “He got through to Hatano.  Not just that one time when you came in, and Hatano was in a mood, and trying to shut us out.  But several other times in the control room.  He just seemed to know what to say,” Tazaki said.

            “Probably his cop training.  They teach them how to handle victims, right?”

            “They teach them how to say things like ‘Nothing to see here, move along,’ and ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ as they’re walking by, already preparing for whatever crap they need to do next.  It’s a rare good one that actually takes the time to learn how to get through to people,” said Tazaki. 

            “Please tell me you don’t have a crush on him too,” groaned Kaminaga.

            “I don’t have a crush on him too,” Tazaki obliged.

            “Now say it again, like you mean it,” Kaminaga ordered.

            “Kaminaga.  I certainly do not have a crush on the detective,” said Tazaki dryly.

            “Good.  Because Miyoshi’s bad enough.  The last thing we need is him getting into a catfight with you over the detective.”

            “The last thing we need is him getting into a catfight with me over the detective, then the detective arresting us for it,” said Tazaki.

            Kaminaga barked out a laugh.  “That is the last thing we need.  Especially since Miyoshi would probably be turned on by it.”

            “And I would have to watch,” said Tazaki, pitching his voice to a tone to imitate misery, then shuddering at the end.

            “Yuuki-san would not post bail for either of you,” said Kaminaga.  “Especially not Miyoshi.  Not if he got arrested for that.”

            “Well, I would hope that you would come post bail for me, at least,” said Tazaki.

            “Of course.  Who else would I get to massage my feet after work?” asked Kaminaga.  “But Miyoshi would have to stay there awhile.”

            “Oh?  Is that so?” asked Miyoshi pleasantly.

            Tazaki and Kaminaga both jumped and yelped.

            “Miyoshi!” said Tazaki.

            “H-how long have you been there?” asked Kaminaga.

            “Long enough,” said Miyoshi.

            Kaminaga poked at Tazaki with one bare foot.  “Why didn’t you tell me he entered the room?”

            “I didn’t know.  I didn’t see him.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “My eyes were closed!  You know that!”

            “If you’re finished?” prompted Miyoshi.

            “Yes,” said Tazaki.

            “Sorry, Miyoshi,” said Kaminaga sheepishly.  “What did you need?”

            “I wanted to hear more about Tazaki’s thoughts concerning the detective,” said Miyoshi. 

            “Er . . .”

            “The ones relevant to Hatano,” said Miyoshi in a dry voice.  “Not your useless speculation.”

            “What speculation?” muttered Kaminaga, and earned himself a dirty look.  He had to make an effort not to smirk and shake his head.  Miyoshi was so obvious.  But Kaminaga would admit, that just right now, he seemed to have a practical interest in what the detective had done.  Well, it was also personal, but not in the way all his other interests in Sakuma had been personal.  Any matter that concerned the wellbeing of one of their inner circle was personal in a family kind of way.

            “You said he was able to get through to Hatano several times?” prompted Miyoshi. 

            “Oh.  Yes,” said Tazaki.  He continued massaging Kaminaga’s feet as he spoke, but more of his attention was directed on his conversation with Miyoshi now, much to Kaminaga’s chagrin.  “Several times.  When Hatano seemed like he was going to retreat in on himself, you know the way he always used to when he first joined us?”

            “Like he thought he should deal with whatever problem he had alone,” Miyoshi remembered.

            “Yes.  But it was like Sakuma knew what to say to keep him from doing that.  He did it so well, I think Fukumoto started taking notes.  Hatano didn’t close himself off, or get into one of his moods, and actually seemed alright the whole time we were up there.  I think Jitsui doesn’t know whether he wants Sakuma to stick around, or to stay away so he can keep Hatano all to himself.”

            “A dilemma to be sure,” said Miyoshi, dismissing Jitsui’s problem.  “But Hatano himself seemed open to what Sakuma was saying?”

            “He did,” said Tazaki, smiling softly.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was actually starting to like the detective.”

            “In his file, from his days as a beat cop, Sakuma received numerous commendations from the neighborhoods he patrolled,” said Miyoshi.  “Petty crime went down fifteen percent.  Violent crimes saw a continuous steady decline.  And closure rate for prosecuted infractions went way up.  Father and I concluded from the available data that Sakuma is the sort of fool who pours his heart and soul into his work, and actually cares about most everyone he meets.  Even after years of seeing the sort of slime that makes up so much of the population.”

            “How were you so sure that after three years undercover, amongst criminals, he hadn’t changed?” asked Kaminaga.

            “I wasn’t.  This was one of those things I had to see for myself in order to determine,” answered Miyoshi.

            “It seems kind of cruel,” said Kaminaga.  “More so than usual.  Us targeting one of the few good men on the force, and trying to corrupt him.”

            Miyoshi shrugged.  “Cruel was what the Metro did, submitting his application to us without his knowledge, when all he wanted was to get back to his life.  They were the ones who involved him.”

            “But we were the ones who chose to let him into the game,” Tazaki pointed out.  “You could have just sent the Metro a rejection letter and a Nice Try card, and that would have been the end of it.”

            “We could have.  But we’d been waiting a long time for someone like Sakuma to finally be submitted.  Someone from outside the Metro, with both a decent record as a cop, and a decent cover story, that wouldn’t make us look like idiots for buying,” said Miyoshi.  “Three years in deep cover like that was impressive no matter how you looked at it.”

            “It’s still kind of cruel,” said Kaminaga.  Because Miyoshi had listed his reasons for why he’d brought Sakuma into the game, but hadn’t detracted from Kaminaga’s original point.  “Taking a good guy like that, taking away all his options, and then trying to turn him.”

            “We didn’t take away his options, the Metro did,” said Miyoshi impatiently.  “And in some ways, you could say we’re doing him a favor.  He is the sort of man who wants to do the right thing, uphold justice, and all that.  Shouldn’t it be his dream to have a crack at a huge corruption case?”

            “You can spin it however you like,” Kaminaga said.  “I’m just saying, it’s not like we haven’t taken a hand in derailing his life.”

            “Good people have their lives overturned by bastards like us, and bastards worse than us, every single day,” said Miyoshi, bristling now.  “That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?  The worm will turn.”

            “I’m not arguing with you,” said Kaminaga. 

            “Aren’t you?”

            “I’m just saying, he might be someone worth not screwing over,” said Kaminaga.  “Not because it would be dangerous to.  But because maybe, now and then, it’s nice to find a good person and not ruin him.”

            “I don’t intend to ruin him,” said Miyoshi.  “If he becomes a double agent for us, and that is now a rather large if, since our plan to use Oikawa’s case is currently up in the air, it will be because he has decided, on his own, without any threat from me, that he can do the greatest amount of good working with us to cut out the more corrupt parties seeking refuge in the Metro and Vegas’s government.  If he decides that no, he doesn’t want to sully his hands, for a good reason or otherwise, then we either distance him from our inner circle, until the Metro realizes that he’s not doing them any good, and they pull him out.  Or else we figure out a way to remove him from our service in a way that won’t impact his career.  I figure we can do that much for him, at least.”

            “At least,” Kaminaga agreed.  “I’ll be satisfied with that.”

            “Likewise,” said Tazaki.

            Miyoshi raised an eyebrow.  “Did I say I was putting it to a vote?”

            “No.  But you know we owe him that much, at least, for tonight,” said Tazaki.  “I saw the footage from the bar, and I know you have too.  We nearly had a body on our hands, in full view of our customers.  Oikawa’s body, no less.  There would have been no sweeping that under the rug.”

            Kaminaga nodded in agreement.  He’d seen the footage too.  Hatano’s hand had been rising, his fingers twisted for a strike they all knew very well.  But the detective probably hadn’t noticed.  All he’d seen was a frozen kid in the hands of a pedophile.  Everything he’d done had just been to protect Hatano, with no thoughts for himself.  He’d heard from the others that Sakuma expected to be fired for pissing off a high roller.  That could have meant the end of his career as a cop, but he’d done it anyway, no hesitation.  The bottom line, whether they liked it or not, was that they owed Sakuma.  And not just for saving them from a situation that would have politically crippled them for some time to come, but also for defending their youngest.  Kaminaga didn’t like having red in his ledger.  He preferred to clear it out as fast and thoroughly as possible.

            “That would have been a mess,” said Miyoshi, with a slight chuckle.  “Well, as long as you’re satisfied with the plan, there are no problems, right?”

            “Not with the detective, at least,” said Tazaki.  “Hatano?”

            Miyoshi shrugged.  “I see no reason to punish him for something that didn’t actually happen.  Neither does Yuuki-san.”

            Kaminaga breathed a mental sigh of relief.  He’d been a bit worried.  Not in fear that Miyoshi or Yuuki would do anything to physically hurt Hatano.  D-Agency was practically a family, and Hatano was their baby.  But a punishment like trying to restrict him to Sublevel D could make the casino start to feel like a cage to Hatano, and Hatano wouldn’t be able to help trying to break out of it.  And sending him offsite for awhile to oversee D-Agency’s other interests would be problematic as well.  Hatano would accept it as his punishment, without complaint.  But Jitsui would go on the warpath.  In the end, it would be like they were all being punished. 

            “I was actually thinking,” said Tazaki, speaking up again.  “And I’m not suggesting this as a punishment, but because I think it’s worth considering.  It might help Hatano if we had him talk to someone about what he’s been through.”

            Miyoshi raised an eyebrow.  “You mean like a psychiatrist?”

            “Or a therapist.  A counselor.  Someone with doctor/patient confidentiality,” said Tazaki.

            “We would never be able to trust them,” said Miyoshi.  “We couldn’t keep an eye on them at all times, and doctor/patient confidentiality tends to crumble fast enough when someone puts a gun to your head or threatens your family.  Our enemies would do that without a second thought.  There’s no way Father would approve.”

            “But do you really think it’s alright to leave things the way they are?” asked Tazaki.  “You know what he’s been through.  And after tonight, I think we were kind of naïve for thinking he’d just be okay with time.”

            “As a matter of point, Father did consider some sort of therapy when we first took Hatano in,” said Miyoshi.  “But the problems were the same then as they are now.  We couldn’t trust whatever doctor we took him to not to turn around and tell everything he told them to the corrupt elements in the Metro, or a rival crime operation, if they came calling.”

            “Maybe we could work out a compromise,” said Kaminaga.  “Just pair up Hatano’s shifts with the detective’s for the foreseeable future.  You suggested having him talk to someone because of how Sakuma managed to reach him today, right Tazaki?”

            “Yes.”

            Kaminaga looked at Miyoshi.

            “An idea worth considering,” Miyoshi said.  “I’ll run it by Father.  And by Jitsui.”

            “Yes.  Definitely by Jitsui.  Otherwise . . .”

            “Probably best not to think about that.”

            “I’m alright with it,” said Jitsui, from the next couch over.

            All three career criminals jumped this time, at the sudden appearance of the petit hacker.  Jitsui looked up from his tablet and shrugged at them.

            “I thought I’d save you the trouble of asking.”

            “And how long have you been there?” asked Kaminaga.  Getting snuck up on was annoying.  He was glad there were so few people who could manage to do that to him.  But he just had to live with half a dozen people who could manage it.

            “Long enough,” said Jitsui.  “Hatano’s asleep right now, by the way.  He knows he messed up.  Well, almost messed up.  He feels really bad about it.”

            “You heard me say he’s not going to be punished?” Miyoshi asked.

            “I did.  Thank you for that.”

            “Thanks aren’t necessary.  We haven’t forgotten the time he saved my father’s life, or the two times he’s saved mine,” Miyoshi said.  “Or those scattered instances where he’s saved, or at least had a hand in saving almost everyone else’s.”

            “Including mine, the day we met,” Jitsui remembered fondly.

            “I’d say he’s earned his keep,” said Kaminaga cheerfully.  “And a little leeway.”

            “You said that the Oikawa matter was up in the air,” Jitsui commented.

            “Yes.  You remember that the original plan was to dangle him in front of Sakuma-san like a shiny bauble.  Something he couldn’t just ignore, but would find, when he tried to look into the matter, that there were inconsistencies, and lots of charges swept under the rug, by the Metro,” said Miyoshi.  “But we can’t exactly dangle him in front of Sakuma-san anymore, since I told Oikawa to pack his shit and leave, can we?”

            “No.  But I feel I should tell you, your delivery of that line was amazing,” said Jitsui.

            “Thank you.  I try.”

            “I’ve made a ringtone out of it.”

            Miyoshi paused.  Stared at him.  And then he sighed.  “Of course you have.”

            “And remotely changed Yuuki-san’s ringtone.”

            “Now you’re lying,” said Miyoshi.  “Even you wouldn’t dare do that.”

            “Oh, I wouldn’t, would I?” Jitsui asked.

            “I don’t know,” admitted Kaminaga.

            “I’m kind of excited about this,” said Tazaki. 

            “But back to the master plan, for the detective,” said Jitsui.  “What do you plan to try to use to turn him now?”

            “Undecided, at the moment,” said Miyoshi.  “I’ll have to review the worst of the other problems, linked to the Metro.  See which ones we might be able to manipulate to our advantage, and get the detective interested in, now that Oikawa is off the table.”

            “So he’s definitely off the table?” asked Jitsui with interest.

            “Yes,” Miyoshi said.  “But no, you can’t kill him.  Or otherwise attack his interests.  He’s still too high profile.”

            Jitsui didn’t look pleased.  “I’ll do my best to follow your wishes.  But if he poses a serious threat to Hatano, all bets are off.”

            “Naturally,” Miyoshi agreed.

            “I’m going back to work then,” said Jitsui.

            “Didn’t your shift just end?” Tazaki asked.

            “It did.  So I’ll be working in my room,” said Jitsui.  “Detective Sakuma initiated contact with Detective Honma, and I want to listen in on that as it unfolds.  And I’m rewriting a couple lines of code in one of my facial recognition programs to flag all known associates of Oikawa as red level threats.”

            “Whatever you think is necessary,” Miyoshi acceded.

            “Thank you.  Oh.  I’ve turned off the AC in the security rooms, as punishment.  If those fucking idiots hadn’t ignored that yellow level threat for five minutes, this whole mess wouldn’t have happened.”

            “Jitsui, it’s the middle of a heatwave,” Tazaki said hesitantly.

            “They won’t die.  The entire building around their room is air conditioned.  It’s not like I trapped them in an oven,” said Jitsui, smiling like an angel.  “They’ll just sweat a bit.  They deserve it.  Oh, and Miyoshi.  If you’re looking for another strong corruption case to dangle in front of the detective, I recommend taking a good look at Mayor Gordon.  I’ll forward you some files I downloaded off his campaign’s so-called secure server last night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Sakuma felt like he was living a cliché.  Meeting a contact out in the middle of the desert.  Wasn’t this a staple scene from every mafia movie set in Vegas in the history of forever?  Yes, he could understand the need for secrecy and bla-bla-bla, but his cover was blown anyway, so couldn’t he meet his contact somewhere with air conditioning and wi-fi?

            At least Honma was waiting for him when he arrived, so Sakuma didn’t have to be the one waiting around in the heat.  He did feel a little for his fellow detective.  But having to sit in a heatwave for awhile would have been a treat compared to what Sakuma’s life was currently like.

            “What’s wrong?” asked Honma, as soon as Sakuma got out of his car.  “You said it was urgent.”

            “I need everything you dug up on Oikawa.”

            “Huh?  That’s what this is about?”

            “Yes.  That’s what this is about, since even if I tell you that all the career criminals at D-Agency have started calling me ‘Detective,’ you and the brass are still going to insist that it doesn’t mean anything.  And if I did what I should have done today and arrested Oikawa for propositioning a minor, I would have officially blown my cover and gotten fired from both my jobs, and not been able to go back to San Francisco.  So in exchange for not doing that, you can give me something!” Sakuma said angrily.

            “Whoa, slow down.  What happened?” asked Honma.

            “Oikawa showed up at the casino again tonight.  I don’t know why, but Hatano, who is, by the way, Shimano Ryousuke, without a doubt, didn’t get alerted.  And Oikawa saw him and cornered him,” said Sakuma, rubbing a hand over his face.

            “If he really is Shimano Ryousuke, shouldn’t he have been in like no danger?” asked Honma.  “Not that it’s alright what Oikawa wanted with him, but Shimano is –”

            “Shimano is a sixteen year old boy who’s been severely traumatized.  When Oikawa started touching him, he froze,” said Sakuma.  “He’s just a kid, dammit.  Now what do you have on Oikawa?”

            “Nothing,” said Honma.

            “What?  What do you mean nothing?” demanded Sakuma.

            “I mean the guy’s spotless.  He’s never been implicated in anything by the Metro,” said Honma.  “Are you sure –”

            “Yes, I’m sure.  I watched him come onto Shimano with my own two eyes.  I got between him and Shimano, and got to see just how hungry that sick bastard looked.  Then I got to watch him on a screen in the control room, while he spoke to Miyoshi about fucking buying the kid.”

            Honma’s jaw clenched.  He looked disgusted, but also inexplicably eager.  “This could be our chance.”

            “What?” asked Sakuma.

            “When is the exchange going down?”

            “It isn’t,” snapped Sakuma.  “They’re not selling Hatano to Oikawa.”

            “Are you sure that wasn’t an act just for your benefit?”

            “If they’re acting for my benefit, doesn’t that mean you admit they know I’m a cop?  You can’t have it both ways Honma,” spat Sakuma.  “But no.  It was no act.  I could tell that every career criminal of D-Agency I saw that night wanted Oikawa dead.  When he told Miyoshi that he was going to take Hatano – that is Shimano, with or without his permission, Miyoshi sent him packing.  When Oikawa tried to play the ‘What’s your daddy going to say about this?’ card, Yuuki himself showed up and backed Miyoshi’s call.  You know, I never thought I’d live to see the day when I had more respect for career criminals than I do for my fellow police officers?”

            “What?” demanded Honma.

            “But right now there’s no denying that they’re more deserving of it,” Sakuma said angrily.  “Oikawa’s not being subtle about his preferences at all.  There’s no mistaking that the man’s a pedophile.  D-Agency seems to have all kinds of info on him.  Yet the Metro has nothing?  Nothing at all?”

            “There- ”

            “Don’t try to tell me that there might be nothing to find.  This isn’t my first rodeo, Honma.  When the criminals have this kind of dirt on someone, but we don’t, it means it’s because we’re looking the other way.  Is the Metro giving Oikawa a pass on account of him being rich?”

            Honma looked like he wanted to say that wasn’t possible.  But he didn’t.  “I don’t like to think so.  But this is Vegas.  There’s always been corruption.”

            Sakuma kicked at a clump of bunchgrass.  “You hypocrites.  You drag me away from my home, out of my life, which I was just finally getting back to, and you say it’s because you need me to help you put an end to this group of lowlife career criminals, and all the while you’re turning a blind eye to a fucking pedophile.”

            “You know I didn’t have anything to do with dragging you into this,” said Honma.  “It wasn’t my call.  But we do need your help.  We’ve been after D-Agency a long time and have gotten nowhere with them.  You’re our best shot at taking them down.  As for Oikawa, I’ll dig deeper.”

            “Prove it.  Tell me how you’re going to dig deeper,” said Sakuma.

            “I’ll pull old unsolveds.  Try contacting the victims.  It won’t be fun, and it will be even less so for them, but –”

            “No, don’t do that,” said Sakuma.  “Try pulling old unsolved murder files.  Ones for young Asians.  If there were any victims left alive, and they were going to talk, they would have done so already.”

            “Alright.  I’ll do it.  Anything else you want?” asked Honma. 

            “I want you to email me everything you can.  All the files you’re able to,” Sakuma said.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you.  But I always prefer to do my own research.”

            “Fair enough.  Do you have any information on D-Agency that I can pass along to Muto?” Honma asked.

            “Nothing useful.  Unless he cares that Tazaki is in possession of the fattest rabbit that I have ever seen,” said Sakuma. 

            “Is that . . . is that slang for something?” asked Honma.

            “No.  That statement is meant to be taken at face value.  Tazaki owns a very obese, yet somehow still cute white rabbit, which he can conjure out of thin air.  I have no idea how, because that thing is way past too big to be hiding anywhere on his person,” said Sakuma. 

            “Oh.  Well, I guess that concludes this meet then?”

            “Yeah.”  Sakuma said.  “But I want those files ASAP.”

            “I’ll start pulling them tomorrow.  But you need to be careful, Sakuma.”

            “Believe me, I know that better than anyone.”

            “If they really know you’re a detective, you need to figure out what they want from you,” said Honma.

            “Now you believe me?”

            “I don’t know,” admitted Honma.  “I can’t imagine them even letting you into their ranks if they knew.  But I can tell you believe they know.  So I don’t know what to believe.”

            “Well,” said Sakuma, “I believe that Oikawa’s the priority now.  So I’m going to focus on him now.”

            “Muto –”

            “Can fire me if he wants.  I think the SFPD will take me back when I start throwing around accusations of the Metro ignoring pedos,” said Sakuma as he got back in his car.

            Honma shook his head, but gave Sakuma a wave before getting back in his own ride. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The one good thing about Sakuma’s schedule now, was that it allowed him time to contact Alain when his shift ended.  Keeping in touch with friends in different time zones was always difficult.  But friends who lived overseas even more so.  But now, though Sakuma’s shifts ended after 3:00 am every night, or rather extremely early morning, if he wanted to call Alain when he got off work, he reached his friend in the middle of the morning, over in France. 

            “Sakuma,” Alain greeted him on the first ring.  “It’s good to hear from you.  Were you able to find out?”

            Sakuma didn’t blame his friend for his one track mind.  He knew how much the Shimano Ryousuke case meant to Alain.

            “Yeah.  I found out, Alain.  It’s him.  Hatano is Shimano Ryousuke.”

            He heard a sound on Alain’s end, that sounded like something falling over.  He just hoped it wasn’t his friend.  “Hey?  Alain?  Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” said Alain.  “I just knocked over some files.  I’m alright.  I just . . . he’s alright?  He’s safe?  The career criminals you’re investigating aren’t hurting him?”

            Sakuma took a deep breath and wished he’d thought over how to tell Alain all of this better.  “He’s alive, and healthy, and happy.  He’s not being held by D-Agency against his will.  Those men are treating him well.  They’re treating him like family.”

            Alain was silent as he processed this.  Sakuma gave him the time he needed.  And then he heard something disturbing.  Something that sounded like a sob.

            “Alain?”

            “I’m sorry.  Forgive me, Sakuma.  I’ve just searched for him so long.  Everyone told me to give up, that he was dead.  The trail went dead twice.  There were times even I didn’t think I would find him.  I guess technically, I never did.  But I’m glad,” said Alain.  Sakuma could hear the tears in his voice, but his friend was articulate.  “I’m so glad that he made it.  Even if he’s fallen in with criminals, I’m so glad that he’s alive, and safe.  I’m glad they’re treating him well.  Just the act of them doing that makes them so much better than every other criminal whose hands he fell into.  Thank God they found him.”

            Alain had a gift for speaking.  He was the kind of person whose words made people feel.  And he was one of those rare people who were just so good, and righteous, that you kind of couldn’t believe they still existed in a world full of so much hate and corruption.  Just listening to him now made Sakuma feel like tearing up.  He knew how long Alain had been looking for Shimano Ryousuke, and how much he had given up trying to save that one boy.  He hated being the one to tell Alain that he had failed, and that someone else had saved the kid.  But he knew that the sliver of disappointment that Alain felt over that was vastly eclipsed by his joy over someone, anyone saving the boy.  Rather than be jealous of the men of D-Agency, he was blessing them.  He was just so happy.  It made Sakuma really hate having to be the one to tell Alain what he needed to tell him next. 

            Technically, he knew he shouldn’t reveal the details of his ongoing assignment to Alain.  He could get in a lot of trouble over it, if his brass in the Metro found out.  But he had to tell Alain anyway.  This involved Shimano Ryousuke’s continued safety.  Alain would never forgive Sakuma if he found out Sakuma withheld this from him.  Especially if something happened.  Chances of that were low, with all of D-Agency ready to eliminate Oikawa if he got too close to their kid.  But the chance remained, however slight.  Shimano Ryousuke was still in danger.

            “Alain,” Sakuma said regretfully, “There is something you need to know.  There . . . was an incident tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: Wa wa wa wah!  Long chapter!  Lol, sorry, I think I just melted my brain.  Writing Yuuki is hard.  And writing Miyoshi is hard.  But writing them together is the worst for your continued sanity.  At least it was for me, because they’re both too smart, and they’re also men who don’t waste words.  And men whose actions, even the little ones, tend to say more than their words.  So writing them having a conversation was really difficult, lol.  I started that part first, but finished it last, because I kept having to take breaks from it.  I hope it doesn’t seem too choppy because of that. >_<  But thank you for all your input from last chapter, on how you see their relationship and how Miyoshi should address Yuuki.  I’ve decided to use “Father” as his main address for Yuuki.  When he’s talking about him to the others, sometimes he’ll refer to him as “Yuuki-san,” as well as “Father,” or “my father.”  “Dad” is going to be reserved for now, only to be broken out during life or death situations.  Or heartbreaking situations.  For maximum feels.

 

            I hope you enjoyed the D-Family moments of this chapter.  And hopefully I didn’t overdo it, lol.  My goal for this chapter was to show how our boys interact with each other, so it’s clear where they stand with each other and what their bonds are like, but I was having so much fun with that, that I might have overindulged in it, lol.  But I think I did manage to move the plot along a little bit too.  And the much awaited Alain has finally arrived! 

 

            Next chapter is going to be very Alain-centric.  It’s essentially going to be an interlude showing Alain’s eight year search for Shimano Ryousuke.  Starting with the day he failed to save him.

 

* * *

 

 

Omake

 

            _“Pack your shit and leave.”_

            Yuuki’s head snapped up at the unexpected sound of his son’s softly furious voice. 

            _“Pack.  Your shit.  And leave.”_

            Hearing those words from earlier that evening, repeated with the exact same inflections told Yuuki all that he needed to know.  He picked up his cell phone as it repeated the phrase again.

            _“Pack your shit and leave.”_

            Yuuki answered the call curtly.  “What?”

            “Good evening, Yuuki-san,” said Jitsui.  “I just wanted to inform you that I had changed your ringtone.”

            “Noted,” said Yuuki.  Then, without ending the call, he threw his phone to the ground and stomped on it.  The device cracked apart under the hard sole of his shoe.

            He knew from experience it would be easier to get a new phone than to try to undo whatever Jitsui had done to his old one.

 


	6. Interlude: Alain Lernier

“A man like that for friends beloved, or for his country fears not to perish.” – Horace

 

 

            The longer they waited for the order to go in, the worse the feeling of sinking in Alain’s stomach got.

            The men who’d been flagged for them to keep an eye out for had arrived an hour earlier.  Without luggage.  Which meant if they were at this abandoned warehouse for business, which they assuredly were, their merchandise must already be inside.  Or was waiting to be delivered.

            That was what was keeping the order from coming in.  Alain’s team had been in position for three hours waiting for it.  And Alain had been checking in with his superiors every ten minutes.  They were sick and tired of hearing from him by now.  But he was sick and tired of their indecision.  If it were his call, they would have gone in the moment the men arrived. 

            Because the merchandise that these sick bastards dealt in was children.  They were human traffickers, snuff film makers, and they got off on raping, mutilating, and killing children while their cameras were rolling.  The men they were after were the worst of the worst.  Alain could understand his brass’s desire to get them all, and with irrefutable evidence, but there could be a child in there, being assaulted at that very moment.  Surely the child’s life should take precedence.  They could use whatever evidence or testimony they got from the scene and the criminals they did manage to arrest to track down the others.  Alain really couldn’t stand this.

            “Lernier.  There’s movement around back,” said Marie through their radio.  “Two men just emerged.  They . . . they have something in a black plastic bag.”

            Alain felt his heart start to crack.  Right then he knew.  He just knew.  While they’d been sitting on their asses a child had lost their life.  All because he’d followed an order that he knew was wrong.

            Alain made a decision.  “We’re moving.”

            “Alain, we can’t,” argued Jean.  “Our orders –”

            “We are moving, Jean.  Or at least I am,” said Alain angrily.  Then he spoke into his radio.  “All mobile units, converge on the warehouse.  Do not let the suspects escape.”

            “Dammit Alain!” Jean growled.  But he followed Alain, as Alain knew he would.

            “Torres,” Alain said to Marie through their radio.  “Focus on their vehicle.  Shoot out the tires if they try to flee.”

            The contents of that trash bag would be damning evidence against their suspects.  Some of his superiors would consider it golden.  But they weren’t the ones who would have to open it and process it.  That, Alain would do himself.  It wouldn’t be penance enough for what he’d let happen to that poor child.  Nothing would.

            “Roger that, Lernier.”  Marie used Alain’s last name, just as he’d used hers, even though the two of them were close.  Well, it was precisely because they were close that they were addressing each other this way.  Three days ago, Alain had proposed.  And Marie had accepted.  This would be their last mission together.  Like most law enforcement agencies, Interpol didn’t allow spouses to work together in the field.  Right now only Jean knew that they had even been dating.  They had put on a good show in front of all their other co-workers, being professional to the letter.  They would announce their engagement once this case was wrapped up.  It was too bad that their final operation in the field together would be such a grim one.

            Alain and his men on the ground closed the distance between their hiding spots and the warehouse.  Alain saw a man slam the back doors of their van shut.  The other was beside the door of the driver’s seat.  Neither of them were the ones Alain and his team had seen enter the building earlier.  Which meant they were still inside.  And the sooner Alain and his team dealt with these bastards, the sooner he could get them in cuffs, and in prison where those sick animals belonged.

            “Interpol!” he shouted, identifying himself.  “You’re under arrest!  Put your hands on your head and drop to your knees!”

            There were times when that actually worked.  When criminals realized they were surrounded by officers with guns, and that there was no escape, and so they came quietly.  But this wasn’t one of those times.  Child molesters were only too aware of what would happen to them in prison.

            The man who’d just slammed the back doors shut drew on them.  Alain fired on him first, and got him in the arm.  His gun clattered to the ground and skidded under the van.

            The other man bolted inside the driver’s side door.

            “Freeze!” Jean shouted.  “I said freeze!”

            The man didn’t.  Jean’s shot cracked the windshield but missed the man, and the keys must have been in the ignition.  A second later, the van was rocketing forward.  Several of the other men under Alain’s command had to dive out of the way.

            A rifle shot rang out.  Marie had aimed for the wheels from her sniper’s spot.  But her shot must have missed.  The van continued to jet away.

            “Dammit!  Fernandez, Jeong, give pursuit!” Alain ordered.  “Desrosiers, Segal, you too!  Torres, call in our situation, see if they can get chopper support.  Everyone else, we’re breaching the warehouse!”

            And so they went into the warehouse, expecting resistance, since the two men they’d seen enter were unaccounted for.  What they found was anything but what they expected.

            “What in God’s name . . .” Jean crossed himself at the main room’s threshold.

            This warehouse followed the setups of other abandoned snuff film shooting sites his team had found.  White drapes were hung up, forming a background, and white mats were laid down on the floor.  All the better for blood to show up on.  And there was a lot of blood.  But there were some major differences between this site and the others Alain’s team had raided.  The studio lights were still set up for this one, illuminating every gory detail.  Including the bodies.  Bodies of the two men Alain had come in expecting to arrest. 

            It was a brutal sight, but not nearly as bad as it could be.  Not like the bodies of the children these men had murdered.  One man’s arm was broken, the bone splitting clean through his skin.  The lower half of his face was covered in blood, and his nose was flattened across his cheek.  If Alain had to guess, that was the cause of death.  The cartilage of his nose must have been struck back into his brain.  The other man was a bigger mess.  He was missing one eye, his leg was broken, and his throat had been opened up somehow.  His life’s blood covered his shirt and made a huge pool on the floor. 

            A third man who Alain didn’t recognize, was dead of a broken neck.  The cleanest of the kills by far.  And one final man, still alive, was trying to escape the warehouse through the far entrance, but was impeded by a broken leg that was leaving a trail of blood behind him.  Jean was none too gentle when he slapped the cuffs on him.

 

 

* * *

 

           

            Alain’s superiors, and the French newspapers deemed the night’s raid a stupendous success.  Alain was lauded a hero, despite the fact that he moved his team in without authorization.  And despite the fact that the van and the man driving it eluded capture and disappeared.  Seventeen children between the ages of four and thirteen were rescued from cages in the warehouse that night.  Two human traffickers were taken in alive, and flipped on their sick coworkers, leading to dozens more arrests in the following weeks.  Three pedophiles were dead.  There was no denying that a lot of good had been done that night.  But to Alain, it felt like the worst failure of his career.

            Because the full story unfolded, courtesy of the tape that was left running when those sick freaks started filming their first snuff film of the evening. 

            They’d dragged a young Asian boy, immediately identified as Shimano Ryousuke onto the mats.  Shimano Ryousuke’s picture had been splashed on a number of news screens recently.  His parents had been found murdered in an alley.  He’d been missing for a week, since the night of their death, presumed dead as well, but the police had made an effort to find out if that was really true and reached out to the media.  Alain recognized the boy immediately when he watched the film, as part of evidence processing.

            Shimano was drugged when they brought him on screen.  That was clear.  But the drugs didn’t seem to be affecting him quite right.  He was groggy, but not helpless.  And when the sick bastards started undressing him, touching him, and carving a gristly strip out of his chest with the knife they’d brought to mutilate him, the drugs seemed to get overridden by adrenaline.  And Shimano snapped.

            He was a martial arts prodigy, Alain learned later.  Only eight years old and capable of defeating full grown, experienced black belts in sparring matches.  Winner of numerous karate, jujitsu, and aikido competitions.  His skills saved his life that night.  He killed three full grown men in full view of the rolling camera, and broke another’s leg before being hit on the head from behind by one of the two remaining men at the warehouse that night, and dragged off screen.  Again, missing and presumed dead.  All because Alain had followed orders and hadn’t taken his team in sooner.

            It was the worst night of Alain’s life.  He threw up after he watched the botched snuff film, then sat slumped against the bathroom wall for half an hour before Jean came and dragged him out.  Marie hugged him.  Jean said comforting things.  His boss called to congratulate him.  But all Alain could think was that Shimano Ryousuke was dead, and it was his fault.

            Until a thought occurred to him, flared to life inside his brain: What if Shimano wasn’t dead?

            It wasn’t likely.  At all.  He was too dangerous for his captors to want to leave alive.  And people weren’t usually still alive when they were stuffed into trash bags.  But it wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he was dead.  There was no body.  He had clearly only been knocked out on the camera.  There was no evidence that Shimano was dead, and until there was, Alain decided that he wouldn’t believe it.  It was his fault that Shimano had been abducted again.  And Alain would atone for it if he could.  He wouldn’t give up on the boy.  He would save him, no matter what it took.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            What it took was a hell of a lot.  Alain was astounded to find that no one seemed to want to even think that Shimano might still be alive. 

            “There’s no way they would have let someone that dangerous to them live,” Jean told him when he first broached the idea.

            “I’m sorry, honey,” was what Marie said, shame faced and teary eyed.  “But we can’t change what happened.  We need to let him go.”

            “There is no evidence at all to merit opening up an investigation,” his boss told him.

            His requests to re-interview the suspects they’d captured were repeatedly denied.  And those men didn’t live very long.  Pedophiles never fared well in prisons.

            Alain hit a wall, but he refused to give up.  Shimano needed him.  He was the only one in the world searching for the boy.  He wouldn’t let him down again.

            He did the only thing he could.  He threw himself into his work.  Cracking human trafficking rings became his obsession.  If Shimano was still alive, the most likely fate that had befallen him was falling into the hands of more slavers.  Somewhere out there, someone knew something.  The more of them he put behind bars, the more likely he was to find that person who knew.  He stayed up til all hours, in a dozen different timezones, losing sleep, tracking down leads.

            His hard work didn’t pay off the way he wanted it to.  He didn’t learn anything about Shimano.  But he put more scum than he could readily keep track of in jail, and the number of people whose lives he saved and who he freed from captivity rose from the dozens into the hundreds.  His bosses came to love him.  His name became one that was spoken of with respect.  Promotions were offered.  Nice comfy desk jobs where he’d be making double what he made now.  He turned them down because he couldn’t go out chasing down pedophiles if he was stuck in an office overseeing people.  He never regretted it.

            But his personal life fell apart.  That was something he did regret.  He and Marie never got married.  Within months of the raid on that warehouse they were fighting all the time.  Many things were said.  Some justified.  Some not.

            “You never pay attention to me anymore.”

            “You’re working way too hard, Alain!”

            “You’re thinking about the Shimano Ryousuke case again, aren’t you?”

            “You blame me for that van getting away, don’t you?”

            “Shimano is dead, Alain.  You spending all your time obsessing over saving him isn’t going to change that.”

            “Why did you turn down that promotion?  We’re going to need money when we’re married, and the hours would have been better!  We could have spent so much more time together!”

            “Why don’t you think about our future?  We’re supposed to be getting married.  We should want to be together all the time, Alain.” 

            “Is this how it’s going to be once we’re married?  Are you going to be a father who never sees his own children?”

            Marie, to her credit, really tried.  She wanted it to work out, and for them to go back to the way they had been before.  It was because of her persistence that they stayed engaged for another two years.  But finally, she reached her breaking point, when she worked up the courage to broach a subject she’d been suspecting for awhile now.

            “Shimano Ryousuke’s parents are dead.  And he has no grandparents, aunts, or uncles.  Have you put any thought into what’s going to happen to him if you actually find him?” she asked one night.

            “I have,” Alain said.  “I’ll take him in.”

            “Alain, if we’re to be married, that needs to be a decision that we make together,” said Marie, tears filling her eyes.

            “I know it should be.  And I’m sorry.  But he’s going to need me, Marie.  And I wouldn’t trust anyone else with him.  I’m the only one in the world searching for him right now.  The only one who believes he’s alive.  After everything he’s been through, he’s going to need someone who cares about him, and will take care of him.  And there’s no one in the world right now who cares about him more than me.  So I have to adopt him when I find him, Marie.  I _have_ to.”

            The next morning Alain found Marie’s engagement ring left on the kitchen table, along with a brief note, so there could be no mistake of her intentions.  “I’m sorry,” she wrote, “but it’s over.”

            They never spoke again.  But Alain saw her go into a club with Jean two weeks later.  He put in a transfer to Interpol’s San Francisco office the next day.  There was a human trafficking ring there that he wanted to crack into.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Officer Sakuma lived in the apartment next to Alain’s.  He was a diligent, hardworking young officer, who already had a reputation for being a man you could turn to for help in his community.  He was a beat cop who took pride in his work and the difference that he was making.  He worked a lot of late nights too, and his path often intersected with Alain’s on their way home.  It was no surprise that they became friends.

            Alain didn’t really have anyone else to hang out with in America.  His work had become his life, and Sakuma was the only one who he had to make zero effort to become friends with.  So it was inevitable that Sakuma learned a thing or two about him, since they alternated between their apartments for where they drank the late night beers that had become the hallmark of their friendship.  He explained his case wall when he saw Sakuma eying it.  Every scrap of information he’d amassed on Shimano Ryousuke was taped up there, along with potential leads, all crossed out by now, but still up there, because somewhere there might be a connection, or some new bit of info might give new insight into something old.  On a night when he’d had too much to drink he thought that he probably even showed Sakuma the room that he’d set aside for Shimano when he found him.  It was nothing fancy.  Just a clean, kept room with a twin bed, a drawer with different sized clothes, to make sure he had something that would fit him when he found him, and a few random toys, like a stuffed bear, a soccer ball, and a few other things.  Alain didn’t know what he would like.

            If Sakuma found his obsession weird or creepy he never said so.  From the expression he gave Alain on occasion, Alain got the feeling that Sakuma just found it sad.  Well, he wasn’t wrong.  Sakuma remained a good friend to him the entire time he was in San Francisco.  It was actually Sakuma who made Alain see what he’d been missing in his hunt for Shimano, when he came home one night with a black eye and a bruised jaw.

            “What happened?” Alain asked, when he opened his door and found Sakuma in such a state.  He hurried to his kitchen to get a bag of ice for his friend.

            “Thanks,” Sakuma said, and winced as he pressed it to his eye.  “And as for what happened, I helped arrest a bunch of punks who thought it would be fun to put together their own fight club.  Some of them didn’t take it too kindly.”

            “I see.”  Alain pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off.  He handed one to Sakuma, who definitely deserved it.

            Sakuma took a drink, then pressed the cold bottle against his jaw and sat down at the kitchen table.  “Alain, I had a thought.”

            “Did it hurt?” Alain teased.

            “Yes.  Because it came to me when I was in the middle of getting pummeled,” said Sakuma good naturedly.  Then he sobered.  “But this is serious, Alain.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Alain, immediately sobering too.  “Please, continue.”

            “I’m aware I might be overstepping my bounds.  You may have already thought about this.  In fact, you probably have.  But in case you haven’t, I’m going to suggest it anyway.”

            “What’s wrong?” Alain asked.

            “I thought of something that might have happened to Shimano Ryousuke.”

            Alain set down his beer.  “Tell me.”

            Sakuma took a deep breath.  “You said that he could have been alive when he was taken from the warehouse.  So if he was, what did they do with him?  He was too dangerous for them or any other normal human traffickers to want on their hands.  But he was still a valuable piece of merchandise.”  Sakuma looked like it made him sick to talk about people as merchandise.  Alain had never been more fond of his friend than he was at that moment.  “And tonight got me thinking.  Who would pay top dollar for a kid who could mess up full grown men as badly as Shimano did those perverts in the warehouse?”

            “An underground fighting ring,” Alain realized.  _“Mon Dieu_ . . . Sakuma . . .”  His voice cracked when he said his friend’s name.

            “I’m sorry if I’m poking at old wounds, I just thought –”

            “You’re brilliant!”

            That put a whole new spin on Alain’s investigation.  And an end to his time as Sakuma’s neighbor, regretfully.  He started researching European fighting rings the very night that Sakuma suggested Shimano could have ended up in one.  Several months later, when his team cracked open the human trafficking ring that Alain had come to San Francisco to deal with, Alain knew that it was time to go back to Europe.  That was where he needed to go to continue his investigation. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Half a year after returning to France Alain found definitive proof that Sakuma had been right and Shimano Ryousuke was still alive in the form of a forty-five second video clip, taken on a confiscated cell phone.  When he saw it, Alain’s heart stopped, because after four years of searching, and being the only one in the world who believed he was alive, he would recognize Shimano anywhere. 

            It broke his heart, seeing a child having to fight like that.  But he was so happy to find proof that Shimano was alive.  He redoubled his efforts to track down the underground fighting ring holding him, an organization simply known as the Ring. 

            But the trail went cold one year later in Las Vegas.  Alain was there when Interpol went in to bust the Ring.  He had to call in every favor he had, and it helped that he was the one to provide key information into the investigation.  But it was all for nothing.  Because someone had beaten them to it.  When they went into the old manufacturing plant on the outskirts of Vegas, where the Ring had set up for its next big event, they found all the members of the Ring shot dead, and a bunch of empty cages.  It didn’t look like their merchandise, the people they’d enslaved to fight for them, had been killed off.  Someone had gone through and cut off all the locks, freeing them.

            Alain immediately put in a request to use all of his vacation time.  His next call was to Sakuma, who caught the next plane to Vegas.  And for the next three weeks, he and his friend scoured Vegas, looking for any sign of Shimano Ryousuke.  They checked homeless shelters, hospitals, parks, soup kitchens, everywhere they could think of.  Sakuma had dealt with plenty of runaways and homeless kids who lived on the streets.  He had an understanding of how they thought that Alain didn’t have, and so he knew better than Alain did where Shimano might go.  If he’d been among those freed by whatever guardian angel had taken down the Ring.  If he hadn’t already been killed in some fight before reaching Las Vegas, and buried in a ditch somewhere.

            They didn’t find him.  They tried so hard, but they never found him. 

            It wasn’t until their last day in Vegas, three hours before his plane was to depart, that Alain finally admitted defeat.  He and Sakuma slunk into a faux-trendy tourist trap coffee and souvenir shop for cups of iced coffee, the only thing that had been keeping them going so long.  Then they slumped down at a two-person table, half hidden behind a rack of t-shirts, and half listened to the group of four young men in suits who were looking through said shirts, seemingly on some sort of mission.

            “Do you think he’ll like this one?  It’s cute.  It has a bear on it,” said the tallest man in the group.

            “I don’t know.  Is there one with a pigeon?  Oh, what’s that you’ve got there, Odagiri?”

            “Nine-eighty.  Is this supposed to mean something?  Do you know, Kaminaga?”

            “I don’t know, but it looks like the kind of thing Miyoshi would hate.  I say we get it.  That way we accomplish two things at once.  We get the kid some more clothes of the sort that someone his age should be wearing.  And we annoy Miyoshi at the same time!  Win-win!”

            “As long as we get the bear shirt too.  It’s too cute not to get.”

            Alain sighed then tossed his stupid little bendy straw aside and drained half his iced coffee in one go.  By the time he’d done that, the carefree men in suits were walking away with both the bear shirt and the nine-eighty shirt, laughing with each other, and pleased with their decisions.

            “I’m sorry, Sakuma.  I dragged you all the way out here, and it was all for nothing.”

            “Don’t apologize to me for this again,” said Sakuma.  “This wasn’t for nothing.  It was important to you.”

            “But we still didn’t find him.”

            “This still wasn’t for nothing,” insisted Sakuma.  “We had to look.  Even though we didn’t find him, it still wasn’t for nothing.”

            Alain closed his eyes.  “You’re right.  But I wish . . .”

            “It’s not over, Alain,” said Sakuma.  “You still believe he’s out there, don’t you?  So keep looking.”

            Alain wished that he was drinking something stronger than coffee.  He would kill for a beer.  Or better yet, a whole bottle of wine.  Something that would take the edge off of this horrible, crushing sense of defeat.

            “You know, you’re the only one who says that?  Everyone else keeps telling me that it’s past time to let this go.  But I just can’t.”

            “I can’t say that I understand,” said Sakuma.  “I’ve never been in a situation like yours.  But I understand not wanting to give up on what’s right.”

            “We need to go to the airport or we’re going to miss our flights.”

            “Yeah.  Hey, there’s something you should know.  I might be hard to get ahold of for awhile,” said Sakuma, finishing off his coffee.  He tossed it into a can on the way out of the store.  “I’m going undercover for awhile.”

            Alain didn’t think he’d have an emergency and need to call Sakuma to help him with it again for awhile.  He was out of vacation days until January.  But even when he came back, he didn’t plan to call on Sakuma to help again.  He knew Sakuma would come, but it wasn’t fair to his friend.  This was Alain’s obsession, not Sakuma’s, and he’d already made him waste all his vacation days and then some.  The last thing he needed was to be worrying about Alain’s problems while he was undercover.

            “Be careful,” he said to his friend.  “Undercover work is dangerous.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Three years.  That was how long it took for Shimano Ryousuke to surface again.  In that time, Alain nearly gave up.  But then one day, out of the blue, he got a call from Sakuma.

            “I just emailed you something, Alain.  Please check it.”

            Alain did.  And tears sprang to his eyes.  Because there he was.  Shimano Ryousuke.  A teenager now.  Dressed in a suit with a smirk on his face.  He looked much better than he had in the last photos and video footage Alain had managed to scrounge up of him.  He looked healthy and happy.

            “Sakuma . . . what . . . how?”

            “He works in the casino where my next undercover assignment will be,” said Sakuma.  “A casino in Vegas.”

            So he’d been there.  He’d been there all along.  Even though Alain and Sakuma hadn’t found him, he had been there.

            “He goes by the name Hatano, and he’s allegedly twenty-one.”

            “He has a fake ID,” said Alain.  Not without a bit of disapproval.

            “There’s something else you need to know, Alain.  He works for the criminal organization I’ll be investigating.”

            “What?”

            “He’s a suspected enforcer for the last major mafia presence in Las Vegas.  D-Agency.  They own a casino that’s a front for their criminal enterprise.  And it’s my job to take them down.”

            Alain bowed his head.  “Please . . .”  He didn’t even know what he was asking for.

            “We don’t know for certain that this is him.  I ran background checks on him twice, and they both checked out.  If his ID is fake, it’s a very, very good fake.  So my first step is going to be confirming that Hatano actually is Shimano Ryousuke,” said Sakuma.  “If he is . . . well, he hasn’t been implicated in any major crimes yet.  The worst he’s suspected of is administering a few beatings to people who never filed charges.  D-Agency’s main use for him seems to be as a body guard so far.  If he goes down with D-Agency, chances are high that a judge’ll go easy on him, especially after hearing what he’s been through.  And since he’s still a minor.  It will be complicated, since he’s not a US citizen, but I’ll do everything I can to get him remanded into your custody.  If I succeed in this assignment, I should have enough favors I can call in.”

            “Sakuma . . . thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Sakuma’s next call had both good and bad news. 

            The good: Hatano was Shimano.  And he was doing just as well as he looked like he was doing in the photo.  The criminals who’d rescued him had taken care of him, and treated him like family.  He was healthy and he was happy.

            The bad: a pedophile had taken an interest in him.  An extremely wealthy and powerful pedophile, who Sakuma suspected had the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department in his pocket.  D-Agency had made it clear that they didn’t intend to let the sick bastard anywhere near Shimano, had thrown him off the premise when he tried to buy the kid.  But the pedo had vast resources, and Alain could tell that Sakuma was worried.

            As soon as he got off the phone with his friend, he booked a flight Vegas.

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: Soo . . . what did you think?

            It seems like everyone has been really anxious for more Alain in this fic, so I hope I was able to meet your expectations with the version of him I wrote for this AU. 

            I didn’t originally plan on having him be such good friends with Sakuma.  My initial conception was that they’d met briefly, and Alain had helped Sakuma out with something, and Sakuma had come to respect him as a senior, albeit a senior in a different law enforcement branch.  But as this arc started coming together more, that kind of changed.  I needed Sakuma to be a bit more than I originally planned for him to be. To make him more like the man you see in Ep 2, who is clever and canny enough to find his own way out of the situation the spies set him up for, then run his own investigation and see through all the layers of the situation, even uncovering some of Lt. Col Yuuki’s secrets in the process.  Alain was helpful in giving me a reason to show a side of him like that in this AU.  And in the process Sakuma and Alain became more important to each other than I originally planned.  And now I totally broship them, lol.  Had this been in Jitsui’s report to Miyoshi, Miyoshi definitely would have been jealous.

           

            Next chapter the plot moves back to present day and continues the night after their confrontation with Oikawa. 


	7. Hatano's Arc: Part 5

            “Good evening, Detective.”

            That voice again.  Hell, that greeting again.  Both a greeting and a threat, but delivered so softly and sensuously that Sakuma couldn’t help but feel entranced, even if the hairs on the back of his neck were all standing on their ends.

            He turned and tried to keep a neutral expression.  “Miyoshi.”

            “How are you tonight?” Miyoshi asked.  “Managed to calm down a bit from last night’s excitement?”

            “Oh.  That.”  Sakuma unconsciously glanced across the casino floor, where Hatano was standing, casually keeping a watch for anything that might require floor security’s attention.  So far tonight, the most exciting thing they’d had to deal with was a group of intoxicated young women who thought it was alright to play strip poker on the casino floor.  That problem had been solved simply enough by pulling Kaminaga away from his table, to oblige the ladies in a private poker room.  Honestly, after last night’s incident, Sakuma could use a little boring in his life.  “Yes.  Things seem calm enough now, thankfully.  And how are you, Miyoshi?”

            “I’m well, thank you.”

            Miyoshi moved to stand beside Sakuma’s elbow.  Sakuma glanced down at him, then back at the floor.  Miyoshi stayed where he was, but didn’t speak.

            “Was there something I could do for you, Miyoshi?”

            “Hm.”  The look Miyoshi gave Sakuma made him regret wording his question that way.  That look . . . it made his mouth go dry and his pulse speed up.  It had to be illegal to give looks like that to people without any sort of provocation.  Sakuma felt like he should be reaching for his citation pad to write Miyoshi a ticket or something.  “I wonder,” said Miyoshi finally.

            “Er.  Okay.”  Sakuma tore his gaze away and looked back at the floor.  He noticed Fukumoto had entered the room, bearing a trey with several cocktails on it.  Unless he was mistaken, that wasn’t regular bar tender duty.  And there was another bar that was semi-connected to the playing floor, where patrons here could get their drinks, and there was wait staff to bring them their drinks.

            The mystery was quickly solved when he saw Fukumoto swing around the edge of the room to where Hatano was standing, so he could hand the boy a glass.  Hatano beamed and immediately snagged the cherry off the top of his cocktail, then started chatting with Fukumoto.  Sakuma couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was clearly nothing too important.  Just light conversation.  Fukumoto was simply checking up on D-Agency’s youngest.  Consumption of alcohol by a minor aside, Sakuma couldn’t help but smile when he saw Hatano quickly reach out to snag another cherry off one of the remaining cocktails on Fukumoto’s trey.  The soft chuckle beside him said Miyoshi had seen it too.

            “He looks better tonight,” said Sakuma, without bothering to state his subject.  There was only one person he would be talking about and Miyoshi knew it.

            “Yes,” Miyoshi agreed.  “He was a bit shaken, but he knows we won’t let any harm come to him.”

            Sakuma decided to try pressing his luck a little.  “You never worry that working for D-Agency isn’t safe for a kid like him?” he asked.

            To his great surprise, Miyoshi answered honestly.  “Constantly.  But then, I think I’d worry about him no matter where he worked.  The world can be a very dark and horrible place, Detective Sakuma.  As I’m sure you well know.  At least while he’s working for me I can keep an eye on him.  I trust myself and my other employees to keep him safe more than any law enforcement agency.”

            Sakuma couldn’t argue with that, even though he wanted to.  Despite Alain’s best efforts, Shimano Ryousuke had been failed by the police and Interpol time and again.  And if a rich and powerful predator like Oikawa had his sights set on Hatano, D-Agency was probably the safest place in the world for the kid right now.

            “You know, it just occurred to me that I never thanked you for last night,” said Miyoshi.

            “Hm?” Sakuma was confused.

            “Stepping in to defend Hatano, as you did.  From a man you knew was dangerous, and powerful.  Even though you thought it could cost you your job,” elaborated Miyoshi.  “Your next paycheck will reflect my appreciation for your efforts.  But that’s not a proper substitute for expressing gratitude in person.  So allow me to now.  Thank you, Sakuma.  I’m grateful for your intervention.  We all are.”

            “Er.  Well, you’re welcome,” Sakuma said, trying hard not to stutter.  “I mean it’s not like I did it for you or anything.  Or to get in your good graces.  I wouldn’t would I, since I thought you’d be mad and fire me.  But . . . I’m not doing a very good job at this, am I?”

            Miyoshi just raised an eyebrow, and let a slight smirk tug at his lips.

            “What I was trying to say, I guess, is that I just did what was right,” Sakuma said.  “That’s all there really was to it.”

            “Well, I’m still grateful,” said Miyoshi.  “I saw what you did on the cameras, you know.  And I heard you too.  You sounded very . . . cool.”

            Sakuma smirked despite himself.  Miyoshi sounded like he wasn’t at all accustomed to using the word “cool,” and would much rather be using a more refined adjective.  But maybe he was trying to come across as more approachable and less like he was as wealthy and unreachable as he really was?

            “Well, if you want to talk about cool, I’d say you won last night,” said Sakuma.  “I heard what you told Oikawa in the baccarat room, when you threw him out.  Now that was well handled.”

            Instead of smiling at the compliment, Miyoshi’s expression grew cold.  But his sudden anger didn’t seem directed at Sakuma, and his words confirmed it.  “No one comes into my home and tells me they’re going to rape my little brother.”

            Something made Sakuma glance down at Miyoshi’s hands, and he saw they were clenched into fists.  For a few seconds he felt like he was floundering.  He didn’t know quite what to say.  But thankfully Miyoshi pulled himself out of his mood, quite quickly. 

            “Ah, but if it hadn’t been me, it would have been one of the others, you know,” Miyoshi continued, his voice lightening.  “Or simply my father.  He was not pleased by Oikawa’s misconduct at all.”

            “Yeah, I saw Yuuki-san finish putting Oikawa in his place,” said Sakuma.  “That was awesome too.”

            “Miyoshi.  Detective.  Cocktail?” asked Fukumoto, having just reached them.

            “Thank you,” Miyoshi accepted.

            “No thank you,” said Sakuma.  “I’m on the clock.”

            “Have one.  I insist,” said Miyoshi. 

            So Sakuma picked up the last remaining glass.  There was no cherry on it, he saw.  Or on Miyoshi’s.  Sakuma glanced to the other side of the room, toward Hatano’s post.  And it seemed Hatano had been waiting for this.  He smirked and stuck out his tongue.  On it were three cherry stems, each one tied into a knot.  Sakuma struggled not to smile and shook his head.  Beside him, he heard Miyoshi chuckle softly and knew he must have seen that too. 

            “He really is the cheekiest little thing,” said Miyoshi.

            “That’s part of his charm,” said Fukumoto.

            Sakuma sipped his cocktail to hide a smile.  But then he saw something that almost made him spit out his cocktail.  Alain Lernier had entered the casino floor.  And while normally he would have been very happy to see his friend, tonight he was not.  He was undercover!  And D-Agency was on high alert about anything relevant to Hatano’s safety!  He didn’t know if they knew who Alain was or not, but if any man approached him now and seemed to have more than a passing interest, Sakuma didn’t know what they would do to him.  Nor did he want to know!

            Sakuma saw the moment Alain laid eyes on Hatano.  Alain had been scanning the crowd, looking for the boy.  He recognized him the moment he saw him.  And his expression changed from one of casual disinterest, to the expression of a man who’d finally found what he’d been searching for.  That look was parental.  It wouldn’t have been out of place on a father’s face, seeing his son again for the first time after he’d been away a whole year at college.  It was a dangerous look to be wearing.  One that would get Alain kneecapped, or at the very least have his bank account drained.

            What was worse was that Hatano seemed to feel that someone was looking at him.  Because he looked up, like he knew he was being watched, and then his eyes quickly zeroed in on Alain.  And he saw the look Alain was giving him.  Sakuma watched as confusion slid across Hatano’s face.  It was quickly chased by a look of puzzled not-quite recognition.  Like he recognized there was some connection between him and Alain, but didn’t know what it was.  But then he froze, his eyes going wide, and he touched the wire in his ear.  Someone was speaking to him through it.  Sakuma was willing to bet his whole bank account that he knew who. 

            Hatano said something.  Sakuma couldn’t hear what, but it almost looked like he was arguing.  Then the next thing Sakuma knew, Fukumoto was beside Hatano.  Sakuma hadn’t even noticed Fukumoto had left him and Miyoshi, but there he was, gripping Hatano’s arm, and escorting him toward the nearest service hallway. 

            Panicked, Sakuma looked at Miyoshi.  He didn’t know what was going to happen next, or what to do.  Miyoshi, thankfully, did not look angry, or really worried.  Just tired.

            “Detective.  I think it would be best if you saw your friend out.  Immediately,” said Miyoshi.  And if that wasn’t confirmation that he knew exactly who Sakuma really was, no such confirmation would ever exist.  But Sakuma couldn’t take the time to dwell on it.  Not with this mess on his hands.

            “Right,” said Sakuma, and he hurried toward Alain. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Jitsui’s facial recognition program wasn’t what picked up Alain Lernier.  He hadn’t input the Interpol agent’s photograph into his database of people to be flagged.  Alain Lernier meant Hatano no harm.  Jitsui knew this. 

            He’d grown to respect the man while he was digging through his past.  And then even more, the previous night, when he tapped into Sakuma’s call with the Alain.  He could tell that Alain was a really great guy.  Jitsui had even felt grateful to him for never giving up his search for Hatano.  He never liked thinking about what would have become of Hatano if he hadn’t crossed paths with Shimano Ryousuke three years ago.  It made him feel a little better to think there would have been someone good who would have found and saved him eventually.  He’d never intended to make any moves against Alain Lernier, or digitally wreck his life, as long as Alain didn’t try to take Hatano away.

            But when he saw Alain on the control room screen, he’d panicked.  Alain had spotted Hatano before Jitsui had spotted Alain, and the look he was giving Hatano was fatherly, and full of so many emotions like happiness, sorrow, and hope.  And then Hatano looked up and saw that look, and seemed to immediately realize that he had some kind of connection with Alain, and Jitsui’s heart suddenly jumped into his throat.

            He slammed down his fingers on the shortcuts for Hatano’s wire.  “Hatano!  Come up to the control room right now!”

            He saw Hatano’s confused look on the security screens.  Then Hatano activated his mic.

            “Jitsui?  Why?  What’s wrong?”

            “Just get up here!” Jitsui cried, and hit the buttons that would connect Fukumoto and Miyoshi to their conversation.  “Fukumoto!  Please bring Hatano to the control room right now!”

            Fukumoto didn’t respond, but Jitsui saw him spring into action.  Then Miyoshi sighed.  And when he spoke, it wasn’t to Jitsui.

            “Detective.  I think it would be best if you saw your friend out.  Immediately.”

            “Right,” Jitsui heard Sakuma say.  And he watched as Sakuma hurried toward the Frenchman. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

           

            “What’s going on?” Hatano demanded, wrenching out of Fukumoto’s hold once they were in a service hallway, the door autolocked securely behind them.  “Someone tell me what’s wrong!”

            “I don’t know,” said Fukumoto.  “But it didn’t seem prudent to wait for an explanation.”

            “Jitsui,” Hatano asked.  “Are you okay?  What’s happening?”

            “Just get up here.  Please,” Jitsui said. 

            Hatano nodded.  It wasn’t a wasted gesture.  Jitsui was definitely watching him on his screens.  “Alright, I’m coming.  But talk to me, Jitsui.  Tell me what’s going on.”

            “I’ll explain once you’re up here,” Jitsui promised. 

            Hatano started running.  Fukumoto hurried along behind him.

            “Just tell me you’re not hurt,” Hatano requested as he ran.

            “I’m not hurt.  I just need you here.”

            “Alright.  I’ll be right there.”

            Something was going on.  Hatano didn’t like not knowing what.  Jitsui sounded really scared.  Hatano had only ever heard him sound like that when one of D-Agency’s inner circle was in danger.  The last time he’d broken out that voice was when Miyoshi had nearly been shot, and Hatano had gotten grazed, either when he shoved Miyoshi out of the way, or when he crossed the fifteen feet separating him from the shooter and took him down.  He did wonder briefly if this had something to do with Oikawa, but he didn’t think so.  Most likely one of the others was in danger, and Hatano needed to report to the control room to securely receive his orders on how to handle that. 

            As he ran, Hatano tried to put the thoughts of the man he’d just seen out of his mind.  Even though he had the strangest feeling that he knew that man.  When he’d first laid eyes on him, he had wildly, for just a second, thought that he was staring at his father.  Which was ridiculous, because even if he hadn’t seen his dad gunned down with his own two eyes, that man had looked absolutely nothing like Hatano’s father.  That man wasn’t even Asian.  But something about his expression . . .

            My dad used to look at me that way, Hatano realized. 

            He didn’t know what that meant.  But now wasn’t the time to try to figure it out.  Jitsui needed him.  D-Agency needed him.  Hatano’s first loyalty would always be to them.

            He burst into the control room in record time, having left Fukumoto in his dust, despite the older man being much taller, with much longer legs.  Jitsui was sitting in his chair, looking shaken.  And on the central screen was a camera feed of the familiar looking man Hatano had seen downstairs.  Sakuma was arguing with him.

            “What’s going on?” asked Hatano, breathing a little heavily from running so fast.  “Who is that man, Jitsui?  Is he a problem?”

            He didn’t want to think that.  But if he was on Jitsui’s central screen that meant Jitsui thought it was necessary to keep an eye on him. 

            Something in Jitsui’s eyes scared Hatano when his friend looked at him.  Hatano immediately went to him.

            “Jitsui?  Talk to me.”

            Jitsui reached out to latch one hand onto Hatano’s arm.  “You’re happy here, aren’t you?  At D-Agency?  With us?”

            “Yes.  Of course I am,” said Hatano, gripping Jitsui’s arm back.  “What’s going on?”

            “You don’t . . . do you ever wish that someone else had been the one to save you?” asked Jitsui, breaking eye contact.  “Someone normal?”

            “No normal person would have ever saved me.”

            “I mean like someone on the right side of the law.  Like the police –”

            “The Metro?  Are you joking?”

            “Or like Interpol.  Do you ever wish that someone who wasn’t a career criminal had saved you and taken you in?  Someone who would have given you a normal life?”

            “Jitsui!” Hatano gripped his friend by both shoulders and started shaking him.  “Tell me what’s going on!”

            Jitsui pushed his hands away, but was slow to answer.  Hatano scowled.  Then he reached for Jitsui’s keyboard and pressed down on the buttons to remotely activate Sakuma’s microphone, so he could hear what the detective was saying.

            “No!” Jitsui cried, and tried to grab for his keyboard, but Hatano was faster.  He seized Jitsui’s wrists.

            “ – understand, Alain.  I really do.  But tonight is the worst time you could have picked to come here.  If they even think you mean to try to gain custody of him, they will ruin you.”

            “I know.  I’m sorry.  I only came to Vegas to be on standby if you need me, and to see if I could dig up anything on Oikawa that would give Interpol a reason to take him down,” said Alain.  “I should have told you I was coming, but I didn’t think it would matter.  I didn’t think we’d cross paths.  But when I got here, I . . . I just had to see him, Sakuma.”

            “What are they talking about?” asked Hatano. 

            Jitsui didn’t answer.  But Miyoshi, who’d just arrived with Fukumoto, did.

            “You,” he said simply.

            “Huh?”

            “He’s really Shimano Ryousuke,” Alain said on the screen.  “I still can’t believe it.”

            Hatano felt his blood run cold.  “What does he want with me?  How does he know who I am?”

            And then it clicked.  What Jitsui had been talking about moments ago.

            “That guy’s been looking for me?”

            “For eight years,” said Miyoshi.

            “Eight years?”

            “He’s made it his life mission to save you,” Miyoshi explained.

            Hatano was baffled.  “I don’t understand . . .”

            “He’s an Interpol agent,” said Jitsui, killing the sound so they could no longer hear Sakuma and Alain talking.  “The leader of the team that raided that warehouse where you almost died.”

            “So he knows I killed those men?  He wants to arrest me?” asked Hatano, his old fear flaring up, even though deep down he didn’t think this was the case.

            “On the contrary, he wants to adopt you,” said Miyoshi.  “Or at least he did, up until last night, when Detective Sakuma told him you were happy, and healthy, and safe with us.  And that any attempt to try to remove you from our custody would probably result in his life being ruined.  It’s very likely he may still want to adopt you, but unlikely he’ll actually try.”

            “How long have you known about him?” Hatano demanded.  “And how does Sakuma know him?”

            “He and the detective seem to be old friends,” said Jitsui.  “It was hard to establish a connection between them initially, because the detective’s done a very good job hiding his online presence, probably thanks to his last undercover job.  But eventually I was able to find a link between them, and learn that this was the man Sakuma mentioned was interested in you.  Since then I’ve found out that they were neighbors for a time, in San Francisco.  Their apartments were next door to each other and –”

            “And how long have you known about him?” Hatano asked again, because he recognized Jitsui’s diversionary tactics.

            “A couple days,” said Jitsui.  “I made my report on him to Miyoshi last night.  That was why I was out of the control room when the yellow alert went off.”

            Not too long then.  But there was still a part of Hatano that was simmering.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            Jitsui looked away.

            “Jitsui!”

            “I don’t know,” Jitsui muttered.

            “Did you think I would leave you and go with him?” asked Hatano.  “I wouldn’t.  You should know that!  You – you’re my . . . I wouldn’t leave you.  Ever.  But . . . things like this I need to know!”

            “You’re right.  I’m sorry,” said Jitsui.  He glanced up at Hatano.  “Forgive me?”

            There was a part of Hatano that was still angry, and he wasn’t quite sure why.  But Jitsui looked so sad, and he was apologizing for what he’d done.  Hatano couldn’t stay angry at him.  Usually it was Jitsui who comforted Hatano.  But now it was Hatano’s turn.  He reached out to pat Jitsui on the top of his head, just as Jitsui always did to make him feel better.  “Yes.  But tell me next time.”

            He looked back at the screen.  It seemed like Sakuma had convinced Alain to leave, because they were on the move.  Toward the casino exit.  Jitsui’s programs tracked him as he went, pulling up the footage from the cameras with the clearest shots of his face, and putting them on the central screen.  The men of D-Agency watched as Sakuma and Alain paused in front of the main entrance, and turned to speak to each other again.  Hatano leaned forward and turned the volume back on so they could eavesdrop on the conversation.

            “You’ll be careful here, right?” Alain asked Sakuma.

            “Yeah.  As careful as I can be with my cover blown.”

            “I’m so sorry, my friend –”

            “Don’t be.  I’m pretty sure my cover was blown before I ever got here.  I don’t know what game they’re playing,” said Sakuma, sounding exhausted.

            “Are you going to pull out?” Alain asked.  “Surely the Metro can’t fault you now that you have confirmation.  You can even tell them that I blew your cover if that will help you get out.”

            “No,” Sakuma said.  “If D-Agency wanted me dead, I would be dead.  And I’ve got a clear and present problem that I want to take care of here in Vegas.”

            “Oikawa?”

            “Oikawa.”

            Alain’s expression darkened.  “Will you forward to me whatever Honma sends you?  I’m going to do everything I can to find something Interpol can come down on him for.  I want him behind bars and away from Shimano.”

            “I’ll send you whatever Honma gives me,” Sakuma promised.  “And whatever else I find.  I think between the two of us, we can manage to put him away.”

            “Yes.”  Alain looked around the lobby, somewhat regretfully.  Like he was looking for someone.  “Do me a favor?  Keep an eye on Shimano for me?”

            “Of course.”

            “It’s really damn hard to let go, you know?  After eight years of searching.  But I won’t be like the false mother in the bible, who made King Solomon call for a sword,” Alain said, his eyes filling with tears.  “He’s found a family.  And they were able to do for him what I never could.  And I’m glad.  It doesn’t really matter who saved him.  Just that he was saved.  And that they treat him right.  But . . . it’s still just hard to let go.”

            Sakuma reached out to clamp a hand down on Alain’s shoulder, and gave him a slight shake.  Then he seemed to decide that this was no time to stand on pride, and pulled Alain into a hug. 

            “I got to see him at least,” Alain said, his voice wavering a little.  “I’m really glad for that.  He looks good, doesn’t he?”

            “Happy and healthy,” Sakuma agreed.  “You can’t ask for more than that, can you?”

            “Safe,” Alain said.  “That’s why I’m here.  To do one last thing for Shimano.  Then it’s time to let go and move on.”

            “Maybe finally take one of those promotions they keep offering you?” Sakuma suggested.

            “Maybe.  Or maybe transfer back to San Francisco, once you finish up here.  Unless you want to come work for Interpol?” Alain said.

            “Is that an invitation?”

            “It could be.  I think I could get you in,” said Alain.  “You deserve better than what the Metro and SFPD put you through.”

            “Ha.  Well, I couldn’t cut it in one of the French offices, you know.”

            “The San Francisco office is nice too.”

            Sakuma laughed softly.  “I may take you up on that.”

            “Please do,” Alain said.  Then he sighed.  “But I should go, before I get you in even more trouble.  You will be careful, won’t you?”

            “Of course.  And we’ll meet up sometime before you leave,” Sakuma said.  “Since my cover’s blown, it really doesn’t matter who I meet with.”

            “Well until then, I bid you adieu,” Alain said, stepping past Sakuma toward the doors.

            “Hey, drive carefully.  People in Vegas are crazy,” Sakuma called after him.

            Alain waved.  Then, when Sakuma was well behind him, he wiped his tear filled eyes.

            “Well, he’s gone,” said Hatano.  Strangely, there was a lump in his throat.

            “Yes,” Jitsui said.  Sometime during Sakuma and Alain’s conversation, Jitsui had taken hold of Hatano’s hand.  Looking at him, Hatano could see that Jitsui still wasn’t feeling alright.  Something about this whole situation had rattled him.  Right now he looked like he felt really guilty. 

            Hatano patted him on his head again.  “I should get back to work.  Unless you need me to stay up here with you?”

            Jitsui blinked up at him and tried to smile.  “No.  I’m alright.  You go ahead back to work.”

            “I have my lunch break in an hour.  I’ll come up and eat with you?”

            “Yes,” Jitsui said, and this time the smile he gave Hatano seemed more real.

            So Hatano excused himself from the control room. Fukumoto did as well.  They went their separate ways at the first junction in the service hall, since Fukumoto was going back to his bar, and Hatano back to his post.  But something was troubling Hatano.  Alain was troubling Hatano.  The idea that someone had been searching for him for eight whole years . . . ever since he’d gone missing.  Someone had been looking for him all that time. 

            Hatano had never known.  He’d never thought that there was anyone on his side, until he met Jitsui.  But all those years someone had been searching for him, trying to save him.  He didn’t know why that made him feel like he wanted to cry.  And he didn’t realize that he wasn’t headed back to his post until he reached the main lobby. 

            That was when he realized just how much he wanted to meet this Alain Lernier.  He didn’t know why.  There was no logical reason to want that.  They’d never met, they didn’t know each other.  Technically Alain had failed him.  But by that same count, every member of law enforcement whose cities the Ring had traveled through had failed him.  And Alain alone had kept looking for him.  Hatano didn’t just want to see him.  He needed to.  He felt like there was something he needed to say to the man, even if he wasn’t sure what that was yet.

            Sakuma told him to drive safely.  Which meant that his car had been taken by the casino’s valet parking, Hatano realized.  Tonight was busy.  The valets had been backed up.  Alain could still be there.

            He hurried out of the casino’s main exit, not caring that Jitsui might be watching.  No one ever told him he wasn’t allowed to talk to Alain.  And he wasn’t going to leave the casino with Alain or anything.  He just needed to see him.

            Hatano was full out running by the time he reached the doors.  He skidded to a stop and looked both ways, searching.  But his heart quickly sank.  He didn’t see Alain.

            There were marked taxicabs pulled up to the curb, waiting for passengers.  And then some other, unmarked cars too.  Some of them probably ride share app drivers, but others could be guests, or friends of guests waiting to pick them up.  Alain might be in one of the unmarked cars.  Maybe he was typing something into a GPS or looking up a map.  And Hatano wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.

            He turned right and started walking quickly down the sidewalk, glancing into the drivers seats of each unmarked car, searching for the Frenchman.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing again.  He reached the end of the row, then doubled back.  There were still the cars to the left of the casino entrance to check.  Hatano would check them all before admitting defeat.

            One of the drivers of a marked cab got out and got in his way.  “Hey kid?  You need a ride?”

            “No,” said Hatano distractedly, trying to sidestep him.  But the cab driver side stepped right when he did.  Possibly by accident.  Or not.  Hatano felt a sting in his side.  He looked down.

            A syringe was stuck in his stomach.  Hatano instinctively pulled it out.  He meant to stab it in the cab driver’s face in retaliation, but his vision blurred and his legs buckled under him.

            “You –” Hatano wanted to call the cab driver all sorts of names that would have made Amari threaten to wash his mouth out with soap, and Fukumoto look at him disappointedly, while Kaminaga snickered behind their backs.  But his tongue suddenly felt thick and useless.  “Muver fugger,” Hatana slurred, and tried to claw at anything he could reach.  He felt himself being dragged across the sidewalk and heard the cabbie talking.

            “He’s fine.  Just had too much to drink.  Don’t worry, I’ll get him home.”

            Suddenly there was empty air beneath him.  Then his face crashed down against something soft.  The back seat of a car.  The door slammed shut behind him.

            Hatano growled and tried to pull himself up.  He could see the blurry outline of a window.  If he could get to it . . .

            “I know a very rich man who’s willing to pay very well for you, you know,” he heard the cab driver say from the front of the car.  “When Mr. Oikawa put the word out, I didn’t pay too much attention.  I thought, what were the chances I’d ever run into you?  Then you just fell into my lap.”

            What?  Hatano’s thoughts weren’t coming right.  They were too slow and muddled, but he thought he understood . . . this guy was working for Oikawa?  Oikawa put the word out that he wanted him?  Did he tell the poor idiots he posted this bounty to just who they were messing with?

            I’m with D-Agency and you’re going to be sorry!  Hatano tried to speak but his tongue had stopped working completely.  He’d reached the window . . . but something was blocking him from getting through it.  Glass.  Dammit, he’d forgotten about that.  And then the window was getting further and further away.  Hatano was slipping. 

            Just staying awake was so hard now.  Keeping his eyes open was impossible.  Hatano couldn’t fight it anymore.  He let go and drifted off into darkness.

 

* * *

 

            Notes: So . . . what do you think?


	8. Hatano's Arc: Part 6

            Alain noticed Shimano exit the casino as he was fiddling with his rental car’s GPS.  It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing his heart.  The boy he’d been looking for, who he’d unconsciously started to see in his mind as his son, was so close.  But completely unapproachable.  He knew he should drive away, because sticking around was only inviting more trouble, especially if Shimano or someone else from D-Agency happened to see him, but he just couldn’t. 

            The boy seemed to be looking for something.  Or someone.  He turned in the opposite direction from where the valet had brought Alain’s car, and hurried down the line of cars and cabs, glancing into all of them, but he didn’t seem to find whoever he was looking for.  Or maybe he had.  Because as he started jogging back toward the casino entrance, someone got out from one of the parked cars to stand in front of Shimano.  A cab driver, Alain thought.

            Alain couldn’t see what happened next very well.  He was parked too far away.  But the next thing he knew, Shimano had slumped limply into the cab driver’s arms, and the man was shoving him into the back of the cab.

            “Hey!” Alain leapt out of his car.  He nearly got run over by another cab for his attempted heroics, and had to step quickly back to his car and flatten himself against it to avoid being flattened.  Then, undeterred, he twisted back toward the rogue cab driver.  “Hey!  Stop!”

            The cab driver was about to get in on his side now.  He glanced back at Alain and waved.  “It’s fine!  I just told the valet, he’s just had too much to drink!  I’ll see him home safe!”

            “Stop!”  Alain ran forward as fast as he could, but the cab driver was already in his car and pulling away.  Alain swore in French, then hurried onto the curb and grabbed a valet.  “Call the police!”

            “Sir, nothing’s amiss here.  Guests drink a little too much and take cabs home all the time –”

            “That man just kidnapped that boy, and if you don’t call the police right now, I’ll have you arrested for negligence!”

            “Sir, maybe you should take a cab too instead of driving.  We can repark your car in valet parking overnight as a courtesy if –”

            _“Allez au diable!”_ Alain spat and turned away.  He was wasting time.  He couldn’t let the cab driver get away.  He hurried back to his own car, pulling out his cell phone as he dodged another cab.  Sakuma was his first contact under friends.  “Pick up,” he muttered as he started his car and stepped on the gas pedal.  “Pick up!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            When Sakuma’s phone buzzed, indicating that he had a text message, he almost ignored it.  But then he decided what the hell?  He didn’t know how much trouble he was in with D-Agency, but he figured using his phone for personal reasons while he was on the clock couldn’t make it any worse. 

            The text turned out to be from Honma.  “Call me when convenient,” it said. 

            Well, now was convenient enough, Sakuma decided.  He saw that another security guard had taken over his post on the floor, so until he was reassigned, he didn’t have anything in particular he needed to do. 

            “Did you find something?” he asked Honma when his handler picked up the phone.

            “You called back quickly.  Are you sure that’s alright?  Aren’t you at the casino?” Honma asked anxiously.

            “I’m on break,” Sakuma lied.  “What do you got?”

            “I looked up old unsolveds for male Asian minors and barely legals, like you suggested,” Honma said.  “And it was harder than it should have been.  A lot of the case files were missing.  And that was only the first pattern.”

            “What else did you find?” Sakuma asked anxiously.  Patterns were never good when it came to this sort of thing.

            “A common MO.  The files may have been removed, but digital copies of the coroners reports are uploaded into our databases.  And short of hacking, those can’t be erased or altered after they’re in the system.  Sakuma, I found a very damning pattern.  In the past decade over two dozen young Asian men have been sexually assaulted and strangled.  I think we’re looking at a serial killer,” Honma said, sounding ill.  “And someone in the Metro has been covering his tracks for him.”

            “Dammit,” muttered Sakuma.  His phone beeped, signaling that he had another incoming call.  He ignored it.  It couldn’t be more important than this.  “Who else have you told about this so far?”

            “Only you,” said Honma.  “Right now you’re the only one who I can trust with this.  You’re too new to understand this, but Oikawa is a big deal in this city.  He’s friends with the mayor, and he’s donated to dozens of causes, city projects, and foundations.  Including just about every fundraiser the Metro runs.  I didn’t realize how much cash he’s thrown at us until I started digging into what information has been made readily available.  And it’s bad, Sakuma.  If he has one person in his pocket for every ten organizations he funds, then we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

            He said “we” Sakuma noted.  That was good.  They were definitely in this together.  “Listen,” he said urgently.  “I need you to make copies of everything that you’ve got, and send them to the contact information I gave you for Alain Lernier.  I think you know how dangerous this is likely to get.”

            “Yeah,” Honma agreed.  “Best to have backup copies.  In the hands of someone outside the country no less.”

            Sakuma grimaced.  “He’s actually in the country right now.  But his office is still in France.  So they’ll be safe enough there.”

            “He’s in the country?  Why?”

            “It’s a long story,” said Sakuma. 

            “Involving Shimano Ryousuke, I bet?”

            “Yeah.  But that’s not important right now.  What is important is that he’s on our side in this.  And he’s made it his life’s work putting sexual predators behind bars,” Sakuma said.  Even though that wasn’t completely accurate.  Alain had made it his life’s work to put human traffickers behind bars.  But almost all of them were sexual predators as well, so it wasn’t completely a lie.

            “That’s good, because I think we’ll need all the help we can get,” Honma said.  “What –”

            Suddenly the phone was snatched out of Sakuma’s hand.  “Hey!”  He twisted around to find Miyoshi standing there, looking furious.

            “Who are you talking to?” demanded Miyoshi.

            Sakuma floundered for just a second, then steeled himself.  “A friend.”

            “Lernier?”

            “What?  No, I just escorted him out,” said Sakuma.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t have people watching.”

            Miyoshi held Sakuma’s phone to his ear.  “Who is this?”

            Sakuma didn’t know what Honma said, or whether or not Miyoshi considered it good or not.  Miyoshi’s expression didn’t change a bit as he listened to whatever answer Honma gave.  Then he hung up the call and thrust the phone back at Sakuma.

            “I’ll only ask you this once, Detective.  Do you know where Hatano is?” Miyoshi demanded.

            “What?” Sakuma was confused and taken back by how coldly Miyoshi was looking at him.  “No.  The last time I saw him, Fukumoto had him.  What’s going on?”

            Miyoshi studied Sakuma carefully, then seemed to decide Sakuma was telling the truth.  He turned and started walking away.

            Sakuma was able to fill in a few of the blanks on his own, and chased after Miyoshi.  “Did you lose him?  How could you lose him?  Don’t you have cameras everywhere, and your pet super hacker to keep track of them?”

            “He’s not showing up on any of the cameras,” said Miyoshi angrily.  “Jitsui’s going back over the footage to find out just when he disappeared, but as near as we can tell, he dropped off our radar right when your friend left, Detective.”

            “You think Alain had something to do with this?” Sakuma asked, now angry as well.  “He didn’t.  He wouldn’t.”

            “Just like he wouldn’t come here and risk compromising your cover?” returned Miyoshi.

            “My cover that was compromised before I set foot here, you mean?” Sakuma growled. 

            “Only you weren’t certain of that until tonight, were you?” Miyoshi pointed out.

            “I was sure enough,” snapped Sakuma.  “And you are out of line suggesting that Alain would ever do anything to Shimano.”

            “Hatano.”

            “Shimano,” Sakuma said.

            “He is Hatano now,” said Miyoshi coldly.  “And he belongs to D-Agency.”

            “He was born Shimano Ryousuke, and he belongs to himself,” said Sakuma.  “If he’s missing now, Alain has nothing to do with it!  Unless the kid came up and asked to go with him in as many words!  I’ll stake my life on that.”

            “Be careful, Detective.  Remember who you’re talking to,” Miyoshi said, very softly.  “I’m sure you’re well aware that D-Agency collects its debts.”

            Sakuma would have snapped something that might have gotten him in trouble, but his phone began ringing at that moment. 

            “Answer it,” Miyoshi said, turning away.  “Or don’t.  I have no more time for you.”

            Sakuma scowled at his back, then frowned as he saw Alain’s name on the screen.  He picked up the call and held his phone to his ear.  “Hello?”

            “Sakuma!  Finally!  It’s Alain!  Shimano’s been abducted!”

            “What?” Sakuma nearly choked.  “Miyoshi, wait!”

            “The man who I consider my little brother is missing, Detective, and I have no time –”

            “I’m on the phone with Alain, and he says Shimano – Hatano was abducted,” Sakuma snapped.

            That got Miyoshi’s attention.  He was back at Sakuma’s side in an instant, and had snatched away Sakuma’s phone.  “Tell me everything you know.”

            Sakuma tried not to feel offended as Miyoshi grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the nearest service hallway entrance as he listened to whatever Alain was saying.  As soon as they were in the service hall and the door had shut behind them, Miyoshi set Sakuma’s phone on speakerphone and then spoke into his microphone to Jitsui.  “Patch all of the inner circle in on this, Jitsui.  Alain, please repeat what you just told me.”

            “I saw a cab driver shove Shimano into the back of his car,” said Alain.  “He looked like he was unconscious.  Your valet was useless in helping me stop the cab driver from taking off, and refused to call the police.  I’m tailing the cab now.  I don’t think he knows I’m here.  I’m staying far enough back, and I don’t think he knew what my car looked like, or expected me to tail him.”

            “That is Alain Lernier speaking,” Miyoshi informed his other subordinates.  “And I expect everyone understands the situation now.  We’re mobilizing now.”

            “I’m tracking you by your cell phone right now, Mr. Lernier,” said Jitsui.  “If you have any identifying numbers for the cab, that would also be helpful.”

            Alain rattled off the cab’s license plate number, and the cab’s company and identification number for Jitsui.  Sakuma walked through the service hall, matching the quick pace that Miyoshi set.  Within moments they were joined by Kaminaga and Odagiri. 

            “There’s no way to track that cab on its own,” Jitsui announced several moments later.  “It doesn’t have anything built in that I can hack.  We’re going to need you to continue tailing it, Mr. Lernier.”

            “That was always the plan,” Alain told him.

            “Alain,” said Sakuma, realizing an important oversight.  “Do you have a gun on you?”

            Alain gave a soft, slightly strained laugh.  “No.”

            “Dammit.”  Of course he didn’t.  Alain had come to Vegas as a civilian, not an Interpol agent.  With all the rules and regulations about bringing guns through customs, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to take any personal firearms through.  And since he wasn’t here on official Interpol business, he wouldn’t have been able to get one from an Interpol office for use during his stay here. 

            “Don’t worry, Sakuma,” said Alain.  “I’ll be alright.”

            “Don’t do anything stupid.  At least not until we get there,” Sakuma told his friend.

            “Actually, Detective, I would prefer you stay behind,” said Miyoshi.

            Sakuma looked at him incredulously.  “Not a chance in hell.”

            “Do you understand what is going to happen, Detective?” Miyoshi asked.

            “I understand you’re going after Hatano, and the cab driver, and Oikawa if he’s involved in this, which we all know he probably is,” said Sakuma.  “I’m going with you to make sure the kid is alright, that my friend doesn’t get himself killed, and to arrest the cab driver and anyone else involved in this kidnapping scheme.”

            “And what do you think the Metro is going to say about that?” Miyoshi asked.

            “I don’t care.  And you might have noticed that I haven’t said anything about calling them in to deal with this,” growled Sakuma.

            “I have noticed.  Why is that?”

            “Because I don’t trust them.  Honma, who I was on the phone with when you interrupted, was telling me about how he’d just uncovered evidence  of a serial killer who preys on young Asian males,” Sakuma said.  “And someone in the Metro has been helping him cover it up.”

            He could tell from the slight widening of Miyoshi’s eyes, and the sharp movements that Kaninaga and Odagiri made that this was news to them. 

            “If we call it in, someone from the Metro might alert Oikawa.  The last thing we want is him ordering the cab driver to dispose of Hatano,” Sakuma finished.

            They’d reached a private level of the parking garage.  Several sleek black SUVs that Sakuma got the impression were bulletproof were waiting.  Kaminaga jumped behind the wheel of the closet one.  Miyoshi motioned Sakuma into the back seat while  Odagiri took shotgun.

            “Kaminaga, Odagiri, the detective, and myself are moving out.  Fukumoto, take Jitsui, Amari, and Tazaki when they arrive,” Miyoshi said.  “Jitsui, we’ll be depending on you for directions.”

            Through Jitsui’s microphone they heard the sound of running feet and heavy breathing.  “I’ve got what I need to keep us connected.  And to keep tracking Mr. Lernier.”

            “You’re taking your entire inner circle?” asked Sakuma as the SUV they were in tore through the parking garage and out onto the street.

            Miyoshi shrugged then knelt down to pull up a mat on the floor.  “With the exception of my father.”

            “You’re not worried about this being a trap, or an ambush?  Some way to take you all out or get you all arrested at once?” Sakuma asked.

            “I’m sure the thought’s crossed all our minds.  But if I tried to order anyone to stay behind, that just wouldn’t fly,” said Miyoshi.  Underneath the mat he’d pulled up was some kind of hidden safe.  He keyed in a number and the locker popped open, revealing a small arsenal.  Sakuma felt like groaning, just looking at it.  He knew at a glance that half those guns weren’t even legal in the US.  But he kept his thoughts to himself, as Miyoshi began passing them out.  An assault rifle for Odagiri, a submachine gun for himself, and an entire pre-packed bag for Kaminaga, that had probably been packed by Kaminaga himself.  “Would you like anything, Detective?”

            He makes it sound like he’s offering me a drink, Sakuma thought, and had to hold back a slightly hysterical laugh.  “No thank you.  I’m fine with my Beretta.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Things were going too smoothly.  If you counted teaming up with a group of mafiosos to thwart a kidnapping smoothly.  And sadly enough, Alain did.  Any ally was welcome right now.  He refused to fail in saving Shimano again.

            But yes.  Things were going too smoothly.  So it seemed like it was only a matter of time before something went wrong.  The first thing to happen was Alain’s phone cutting off.  He cursed at it and tried to reconnect his call with Sakuma, but the device seemed frozen.  Its battery was fine, and he could still turn it on.  He just couldn’t communicate with his reinforcements.

            He was pretty sure that they would still be able to track him with it.  The hacker had said that he was tracking Alain’s phone.  But he wasn’t completely sure.  And he didn’t like not being completely sure. 

            “Well,” he muttered to himself, dropping the phone onto the passenger’s seat, “It’s not like that changes anything.”  The plan was still the same.  Track the taxicab.  Save Shimano. 

            But then the plan was put in jeopardy again when Alain lost the cab.  He cursed himself this time, and scanned the entire street before him, picking up speed.  He hadn’t let the cab get that much of a lead!  Had he turned off from the street?

            “This can’t be happening,” he groaned to himself as he reached the end of the block.  “I can’t lose him again.”

            But looking either way, as far as he could see, there was no sign of the cab. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            “Alain?  Alain, are you there?” Sakuma shouted.

            “He’s clearly not,” said Miyoshi.  “The dial tone signifies the call has been dropped.”

            Sakuma tried to call Alain back, to see if he could re-establish connection.  All he got was a message saying that the person he was trying to reach was outside of service.

            “Shit.  He’s got his phone from France on him.  I’m sure that’s the problem,” said Sakuma.  “I don’t know his coverage area.”

            “It’s alright.  His phone is still on and still traceable,” said Jitsui’s voice through Miyoshi’s phone, which was set on speaker. 

            “It’s not alright,” growled Sakuma.  “If he has doubts about whether or not we’re still coming, he might act on his own.  Even when he knew we were coming, it was still a tossup whether or not he was actually going to wait for us, because this is suddenly seeming a lot like the past repeating itself for him.”

            Grim silence met his words. 

            “I’m driving as fast as I can,” said Kaminaga. 

            “You’ve narrowed his lead down to a seven minute headstart,” Jitsui informed him.  “If you keep up your current speed, you should be able to reduce it to five.”

            Five minutes.  Sakuma knew it was naïve to think Alain would wait that long, if he wasn’t certain help was on its way.  Not when Shimano Ryousuke’s life was on the line again.  To Alain this would feel like a second chance.  And he wouldn’t care what the risks to himself were.

            Sakuma checked his service pistol for the fifth time since getting into the SUV.  There was nothing else he could do.  He hated to admit it, and hated the way it made him feel helpless even more, but the situation was out of his hands now. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Oikawa smiled widely.  A bit too widely, he knew.  His grin when he was this happy made him look a bit unseemly.  But he didn’t care.  As soon as he’d received the call that his package was going to be delivered, he grabbed his two best body guards and ordered them into his limo. 

            He had spoken the truth to Miyoshi Yuuki when he told the younger man that he always got what he wanted.  So he knew that it would only be a matter of time before Hatano fell into his lap, even if Miyoshi was insisting on being stingy and trying to protect that sweet thing.  But Oikawa had deep pockets, and a knack for laying traps.  Vegas was a city that revolved around money and sin, and everyone had their price.  It was too bad for Miyoshi.  He could have made himself a tidy profit if he’d just made things nice and easy and sold him Hatano.  But instead Oikawa got him for a bargain.  All it cost him was ten thousand dollars to a cab driver.  One of several who he’d contracted for special services in the past.  Always in the past, they had simply alerted him when they had picked up a passenger they thought he might be interested in.  Someone young, cute, of Asian descent, and male, who was from out of town and in Vegas alone.  They would send him a picture, stealthily taken on their phones, and he would let them know if he wanted what they were offering or not.  This was the first time he’d put the word out about a specific target.  He was pleased at how quickly they’d delivered.  He hadn’t even expected results this quickly.  It was like Christmas had come early.

            “Miyoshi must not have taken me seriously,” he said, reaching down to touch the unconscious boy’s face and marveling at his soft his skin was.  “Letting a sweet thing like you out all alone, so soon after our last talk.  I really thought he’d protect you better, at least for a few weeks.”

            Hatano didn’t respond.  The drugs were still in his system and would be for awhile yet.  Oikawa knew this from experience.  His cab drivers always used this cocktail on their deliveries. 

            “Bring him in,” Oikawa ordered the cab driver.  “No wait.  I will.  A delicious little morsel like this deserves my personal attention.”  He bent down to scoop Hatano into his arms, still smiling madly. 

            “That’s all fine and well, sir, but about my money?” the cab driver prompted. 

            Oikawa looked to his guards.  “You, pay him, then guard the door.  You, come inside the house and keep watch.  Make sure I don’t have any interruptions.”

            He cradled Hatano in his arms and studied the boy’s sleeping face, adoringly.  How had Miyoshi managed to keep this gorgeous little specimen hidden from him?  Oikawa didn’t know.  And he wondered if Miyoshi was hiding any others.  But there would be time to investigate that later.  Right now, he had exactly what he wanted.  So all that was left to do was use him all up, any way he saw fit.  He would take everything there was to take from this beautiful boy, and give him more than he could stand, until there was nothing left of the pure, perfect creature in his arms right now.  Then, regrettably, it would be time to get rid of him.  But Oikawa intended to fully enjoy him for as long as he lasted.

            As he carried Hatano inside, he noticed sweat beading along the side of the boy’s face.  Perhaps a side effect of the drugs he’d been given.  Or maybe it was just the heat.  It made no matter to Oikawa.  He fully intended to make the boy sweat a whole lot more before the evening was up.  Smiling even wider, Oikawa leaned down and stuck out his tongue, and licked the sweat right off Hatano’s sleeping face. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: I like to follow up cliffhangers with even worse cliffhangers.  Does that make me a bad person?

 

If you need cheering up after this chapter, please check out this fanart manga that Aoi_Kitsukawa drew as a side story to one of the earlier parts of this this fic: [http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=58061557 ](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=58061557)In it, Jitsui trolls Miyoshi about Sakuma's relationship with Alain and turns Miyoshi into a jealous wreck.   Which, after this chapter, might be just what you need to cheer yourself up. :)

 

I'm already working on the next chapter and hope to have it out sometime this weekend, so please stay tuned.  And comments are always appreciated. :)


	9. Hatano's Arc: Part 7

            It was more luck than any skill that Alain spotted the cab again, his second time circling the block.  But he would take luck.  He’d take anything if it got him back on the right track. 

            The cab was parked inside a driveway that was fenced off on one side, which had hit it from view.  That was why Alain had lost it in the first place, and he wouldn’t have seen it now if he hadn’t been looking.  He parked his car across the street and left the keys in the ignition.  The neighborhood didn’t seem like a bad one, and he and Shimano might need to make a fast getaway. 

            He tried calling Sakuma once more.  But when his call wouldn’t connect, he switched his phone to silent and put it back in his pocket.  Then he sighed.  “Sorry, Sakuma.”

            His friend would be angry with him, and he knew it.  Maybe he’d even deserve it.  He felt that chances of them being able to track him were high.  If not through his phone, than probably through his rental car.  He didn’t think that was beyond the abilities of D-Agency’s hacker.  Help was probably on the way.  But he couldn’t afford to wait.  Waiting was what had lost him Shimano the first time.  He wouldn’t be here now, trying to save the boy again, if he’d just done what he knew was right in his heart, that night outside the warehouse.  And right now, he felt the same way.  Even though he knew if he just waited a few minutes, he would likely have backup, and entering the house would be much safer.  But he knew, he just _knew_ that if he did that, then he’d be too late again.  He didn’t know how he knew, but he did, that he was on the verge of losing Shimano again.  This time for good.  And no matter what, he couldn’t let that happen.  If he did, it meant that his life was a failure.  Not just the last eight years, but all of it.  Because here, now, was the life that mattered the most to him.  Whatever it took, he wouldn’t let it be snuffed out.

            Alain took stock of what he had.  Unfortunately the answer was not much.  The most dangerous thing he had on him was an ink pen.  He didn’t even have handcuffs or zip strips to restrain anyone he incapacitated. 

            I guess I’ll have to rely solely on my wits and skills, he thought to himself as he crouched low and moved quickly to the cab.  He reached it just as the door of the house connected to the driveway it was parked in opened, and he managed to duck out of sight just in time. 

            He listened carefully, and tensed as footsteps approached.  Then right as the cab driver came around the car, to the driver’s side, he struck.  His palm struck the cab driver’s nose, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to stun him.  Alain then grabbed him and pulled him down, slapping one hand over the driver’s mouth and pressing his pen against his throat, like a knife.  He would puncture it if he had to.  Though he’d much rather not.

            “If you try to scream for help, you die,” Alain whispered.  “Nod if you understand.”

            The cab driver nodded quickly. 

            “Alright.  I have a few questions for you.  And if you want to live through the night, you’ll answer them honestly.  If I find out you’re lying, you won’t like what happens next.”  The one advantage that Alain had was that he was unknown by these people.  Completely.  They had no idea he worked for Interpol, and that killing anyone would be a last resort for him.  Most likely they would think he worked for D-Agency and wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.  Alain would use that. 

            “The boy you kidnapped.  Is he in that house?  Yes or no?”

            The cab driver nodded.

            “Is Oikawa in there?” Alain asked.

            The driver nodded again.

            “How many other people?”

            The cab driver held up a hand with two fingers raised.

            “Two?”

            A nod.

            “Armed?”

            Another nod.

            “Alright.  Now do you have a gun?”

            This time the driver shook his head.  Well, that figured. 

            With no further questions, Alain hit the man in the side of his head, hard.  The man slumped in his arms, unconscious, and Alain quickly stripped off the cab driver’s jacket and the stupid had he’d been wearing.  It wasn’t much of a disguise.  It wouldn’t hold up to any inspection.  But it was night, so it was dark.  If Alain could get close enough to that guard he’d gotten a glimpse of at the door, he could take his gun. 

            Alain searched the cab driver for anything useful real quick.  He found a pocket knife, which could be useful, and the keys to his cab, but nothing else.  Then he knew he needed to make his move, or else the guard was going to get suspicious about why the cab hadn’t driven away yet.

            He walked casually back up the driveway, to the house, keeping his head down so his face wasn’t completely visible.

            “What do you want now?” demanded the guard at the door when Alain drew close.  “You got your money.”

            Alain held up his hand containing the cab driver’s keys, as though trying to show them to the guard.

            “What’s that?”

            Alain figured he was close enough.  He had to be.  So he tossed the keys to the guard, who followed them with his eyes and tried to catch them on instinct.  Alain used that distraction to close the distance between them.  He hit the guard fast and low, knocking him into the door frame, then to the ground.  The guard huffed loudly as his back hit the concrete.  Alain’s added weight on top of him helped knock the wind out of him.  Then Alain further helped him into unconsciousness by punching him in the face.  Then he slipped the guard’s gun out of his holster.  And just like that, he was armed.

            Maybe that was a little too easy.  Maybe that should have been a warning.  But Alain couldn’t afford to be afraid of something like a jinx now. 

            He dragged the unconscious guard back to the cab, opened up the trunk, and shoved him inside.  Then he tossed the unconscious cab driver in too.  At another time, he might be worried about them suffocating or getting heat stroke.  Tonight he couldn’t afford to care about that.  An innocent life was at stake because of them.  Shimano’s life.  Alain knew what his priority was, and neither of them was it. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            When Hatano awoke, he didn’t want to open his eyes.  There was a sickening feeling of fear in his gut.  He didn’t really remember, but he thought he must have had a nightmare about the warehouse.  That was the only thing that could make him feel scared sick like he did now.  It had been a long time since he’d had a dream about it.  He had thought he was past them now.  But maybe they would never really go away.  Even with the knowledge that he was safe with D-Agency.

            Or maybe he hadn’t dreamed about it, he realized, as that sick feeling didn’t go away.  Maybe he really was just physically ill.  His mouth was so dry.  And he felt both hot and cold at the same time, like he did when he had fevers sometimes.  Maybe he would stay in bed today.  Jitsui would come check on him when he didn’t get up.  Then Jitsui would take the day off and stay with him, unless Miyoshi and Yuuki had something really important they needed him to research or hack.  But usually when they needed something Jitsui started on it immediately and got it done without delay.  So most of the time Jitsui’s time was his own.  And whenever Hatano wasn’t feeling well, Jitsui took the day off just to be with him.  Hatano always worried that Jitsui would catch whatever he had, but he never did.  Not even after curling up in bed with him and watching movies all day.  Jitsui was . . . really important to Hatano.  More than a parent, more than a brother, more than a best friend.  Jitsui always took care of him, and was the one who made him feel like everything was going to be okay.  Even back when his memories of the warehouse and the Ring had still been strong and scary, and Hatano didn’t know what he was doing in D-Agency, or why they were being so nice to someone like him, or how long it would be until they threw him out, Jitsui had always made him believe everything would be alright. 

            He really wanted Jitsui right now.  Really, really bad.  Hatano decided to get up and go to him.  Jitsui wouldn’t mind.  He’d just wrap his arms around Hatano, and hold him, and that would be enough to keep all the bad thoughts at bay.

            Hatano opened his eyes.  And stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.  This wasn’t his room.  This wasn’t anywhere in Sublevel D.  Or anywhere else in the casino that Hatano knew.  Panic shot through him.  He wasn’t in the casino.  Where was he?

            He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t work.  His limbs felt so heavy.  Just trying to lift his head made him dizzy. 

            “Oh?  What’s this?  Are you awake already?” asked a sickeningly familiar voice.  “That was fast.  I wasn’t expecting you to wake up for another hour.”

            If Hatano’s mouth wasn’t already dry, it would have turned that way right then and there.  He recognized Oikawa.  And despite the fog in his mind, he recognized what his situation was immediately. 

            No.  Please, he pleaded inside his own head.  He closed his eyes.  Then opened them when he felt a hand on his cheek.

            “No, no.  No pretending to be asleep.  Or do you think you’re Sleeping Beauty?” asked Oikawa.  “Do you want me to wake you up with a kiss?”

            Hatano tried to shake his head.  He couldn’t form words.  Not even one as simple as “No.”  Or two as simple as “Fuck” and “off.” 

            Oikawa laughed.  Then he laid down on top of Hatano, letting his full weight rest on Hatano’s body, and he pressed his lips to Hatano’s.  The kiss was forceful.  And disgusting.  Hatano tried to turn his head away from it, but Oikawa wasn’t having it.  He seized Hatano’s face on both sides, holding his head immobile, as he invaded his mouth.  His tongue snaked its way past Hatano’s slack jaw, then slid over Hatano’s own numb, dry tongue.  He could feel how wet and slimy it was.  And he shuddered when Oikawa then proceeded to slide his slimy tongue all around his mouth, over his teeth, against the roof of his mouth, then as far into Hatano’s throat as it could reach, moistening every part that it touched.  Hatano choked and gave a miserable cry.  Then it occurred to him to bite down.  And he tried.  But his bite had no power in it.  He only made Oikawa laugh, even while he continued his assault on Hatano’s mouth.

            Stop, Hatano thought.  Just stop.

            He wanted Jitsui.  He wanted Jitsui to ruin Oikawa, bankrupt him, then hack into something that would kill him.  Or Kaminaga.  Kaminaga was the best of them at killing.  And Hatano had no doubt in his mind that Kaminaga would kill Oikawa for him if he could see what the man was doing to him right now. 

            Oikawa was losing himself in his lust.  One of his hands moved into Hatano’s hair and started pulling.  The other he used to keep Hatano’s head under control.  Then he ground his pelvis into Hatano, crushing their bodies closer together.  Hatano tried to move his arms to shove Oikawa off of him.  But he could barely get them to twitch.  Oikawa ground into him again, and Hatano couldn’t hold back a whimper of distress.

            That triggered Oikawa into stopping, and looking down at Hatano with hungry eyes.  “My, wasn’t that a cute sound you just made.  And you made it just for me, didn’t you?”

            Hatano wanted to close his eyes again.  But he knew better now.  Closing his eyes had been what made Oikawa start this in the first place.  He might do something even worse next.  So he just stared at Oikawa uncertainly.  And Oikawa did something else anyway.

            The older man leaned down, his tongue hanging out, and pressed it against Hatano’s cheek.  Then he licked a long stripe, up Hatano’s cheek, over his eye, and all the way to his hairline.  It was gross, and humiliating.  Hatano wanted to kill him for it.  If he could only move, he would have. 

            “That’s a good look on you,” Oikawa said.  “You should look frustrated like that more often.  It makes you irresistibly ravishing.”

            A wordless growl made it through Hatano’s lips.  But it only made Oikawa laugh.  Then his hand dropped down to rest on Hatano’s hip, possessively, just like last night.  And he started rubbing little circles with his thumb again.  It made Hatano want to scream. 

            “You really are adorable,” Oikawa said.  “Well worth the trouble of getting thrown out of the D-Agency casino for.  And whatever hassle they’ll give me in the future because of this.  I don’t imagine they’ll be pleased that I just took you.  I might have to offer some compensation to get back in their good graces.”

            Hatano succeeded in making a disbelieving sound.

            “Hm?  You don’t think I can buy my way back into their favor?” asked Oikawa.

            “Nnno.” Hatano managed to get out. 

            “How very naïve and innocent of you.  But you should know, little one, that everyone has their price.”

            “Nnnno.  Nnnot . . . mmy . . . fammmly.”  They would kill Oikawa for this.  And if Hatano survived, he wouldn’t stop them.  He wanted Oikawa dead.  And they would be happy to kill Oikawa for him.  Any one of them.  Even Tazaki and Amari who preferred to avoid bloodshed whenever possible.  Even Miyoshi, who didn’t like to mess up his clothes with gore.  They would kill Oikawa simply because Oikawa was hurting Hatano.  That was really all there was to it.

            Oikawa smirked, leaned down, and licked a stripe up the other side of Hatano’s face.  “It’s very sweet that you think that.  But you’re wrong.  There’s nothing that can’t be bought, if your pockets are deep enough.”

            One way or another Oikawa would learn that wasn’t true, Hatano knew.  He hoped he was around to see it.  But right now his situation was bad. 

            You’ve been in worse places before, he reminded himself.  You survived the warehouse.  And five years in the Ring.  You can survive this.  All you have to do is kill him.

            Of course that was much easier thought than done.  Whatever drugs were running through his system were strong.  But maybe he could shake them off.  Maybe they were even wearing off on their own faster than they should have.  Oikawa hadn’t been expecting him to wake up so soon.   Those bastards in the warehouse all those years ago hadn’t expected him to shake the drugs off that fast either.  Maybe Hatano had more adrenaline in his veins than a normal person, which helped him override the drugs.  Or maybe he just metabolized them faster.  He didn’t care as long as it held true now.  He would kill Oikawa.  Then he would call Jitsui to come pick him up, and help him get rid of the body. 

            His skin started to crawl as Oikawa started to undress him.  The man’s long, thin fingers trailed down his throat, then began undoing the knot of his tie.  Then he started tugging off Hatano’s jacket.  Hatano’s arms were just dead weight inside his sleeves, but Oikawa managed to extract them well enough.  Then he unhooked Hatano’s suspenders.

            As he did this, Hatano started trying to clench and unclench his right fist.  If he could get just one good strike in, he could end this.  It was like trying to use a limb that had gone to sleep.  He could barely feel it, and barely make it move.  But he needed to do this. 

            “You look scared,” Oikawa said, paying more attention to Hatano’s face than his hands.  “Are you aware that your first time always hurts?  Oh, don’t worry.  I’ll be gentle.  The first time.”

            He started undoing the buttons of Hatano’s shirt.  Slowly.  One at a time.

            “After that, I can’t make any promises.  I’ve been told that I tend to lose myself when I’m with an innocent, tender thing like you.”  He leaned down to kiss Hatano again.  This time Hatano managed to turn his head away in time to make Oikawa miss his lips.  But Oikawa was undeterred.  He grabbed Hatano’s face and jerked it back into place so he could thrust his tongue into Hatano’s mouth again.  Thankfully, this kiss didn’t last as long as the previous one, though he did grind his body against Hatano’s again, sending an uncomfortable shiver of fear through Hatano.

            Then Oikawa went back to undoing the buttons of Hatano’s shirt.

            “You’ll see what I mean soon enough.  You see, I’m going to have you.  Any way I want.  Every way I want.”  The look that Oikawa was giving him now made Hatano start to feel a sick curl of dread in his stomach.  “I’m going to absolutely ruin you.  And then –”

            He broke off suddenly, right as he pulled the two sides of Hatano’s shirt apart.  The expression on his face was almost comical, he looked so horror struck.  But Hatano had no idea what had suddenly brought that about.  Shouldn’t he be the one who was horrified?

            “You!” Oikawa shouted, suddenly sounding enraged.  Then his hand flew down and slapped Hatano across the face.  It was probably as hard as he could hit.  To Hatano it felt like a love tap.  Even Amari hit harder than that.  “You worthless piece of trash!  You damaged garbage!  How dare you deceive me!”

            Hatano swallowed thickly.  When he spoke, he took it as a good sign that he could do so with almost no slur.  “Wwhat the fuck’s your problem?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Alain tried to enter the house stealthily, but he quickly realized that he had a problem.  There was no cover inside the house.  There were no furnishings to hide behind or take cover behind.  This house was clearly not used much, for it to be so empty.  Well, if its only purpose was for Oikawa to use it for his grotesque appetites, Alain was glad it wasn’t used enough for him to furnish.  He knew it could just be a throwaway property, something that was in the works to be sold.  But now wasn’t the best time for him to be speculating.  He had a job to do. 

            His gun was equipped with a silencer.  Illegal in the US, but he wasn’t going to take the time to remove it.  Right now it might save his life.  Or more importantly, Shimano’s. 

            Alain made his way through the house, keeping close to a wall, since that was the only cover available.  He strained his ears listening for the sound of footsteps or voices, or anything else that could give away his enemies’ positions, or give him a clue about where Shimano might be.  As he crept through a hallway, he heard the sound of running water.  From a bathroom or kitchen?

            It turned out to be from a kitchen.  Alain discovered this when he made his way to the sound.  The man who must have been Oikawa’s other guard was refilling an empty soda bottle with water from the tap.  Not really a wonder.  The AC was on, but it was clear that it hadn’t been on for long, and the heatwave outside still had a hold on the place.

            The man’s back was to Alain, so Alain thought he was in luck.  He could get into a good shooting position, then softly order him to surrender, drop his gun, kick it away, and then restrain the man.  But that plan went wrong really fast.  Maybe Alain had made a sound he wasn’t aware of.  Or maybe the guard saw his reflection in the window.  But all of a sudden, the guard drew and twisted around.

            Both men fire at the same time.  And since both had silencers on their guns, the only sounds heard were a slight compresses of air when the guns went off.  Then Alain staggered.  Pain burned through his stomach.  He saw the guard start to fall, and it seemed to him like it was happening in slow motion. 

            Alain kept his gun pointed at the guard until he could confirm that yes, the man was dead.  The bullet hole in his forehead was proof of that.  It wasn’t until after he saw that, that Alain dare look down at his own bullet wound. 

            It wasn’t good, he saw immediately.  His medical knowledge wasn’t good enough to know just how bad it was, but it was a stomach wound, and he knew that by nature all of them were bad.  His best chance for survival was to stop what he was doing and seek medical help immediately.  But Alain would rather die than do that.  Shimano needed him.  He couldn’t let that boy down again.  It would literally kill him if he failed Shimano now. 

            So Alain slapped one hand over his wound and kept it pressed there to slow the bleeding, hissing and grimacing at the pain.  He could feel the blood still seeping out of the wound sluggishly, into the fabric of his shirt, but at least for the moment he was still on his feet, and still had the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  He continued through the house, slower than before, but no less determined to see this through to the end. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: (in a confession booth)

 

Me: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.  I’ve plotted.  I’ve schemed.  I’ve posted three cliffhangers in a row.

Father Yuuki: Do you have any interest in taking our training?

Me: O_o!

 

 

            Right now, I believe there will be two more chapters in Hatano’s Arc.  I’m hard at work on the next one already.  I really want to get this arc finished before I have to go on hiatus because of moving.

 

One last thing before I get back to work. For the people who liked, in the Alain Lernier Interlude, how our D-Agency boys made a cameo appearance, shopping for clothes for Shimano. Tivanny has drawn this scene out on her tumblr page: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/147987195611> . It’s got Fukumama and Odagiri. It’s got Tazaki and Kaminaga. It’s even got the shirts! If you haven’t seen it already, please go check out her amazing work. :)


	10. Hatano's Arc: Part 8

            Oikawa struck Hatano across the face again.  Hatano tasted blood this time.  He’d accidentally bitten his lip.  But he barely felt the pain.  Oikawa wasn’t much of a fighter.  He was, however, a psychopath.  If Hatano hadn’t known that before, he definitely knew this now.  But Hatano still had no idea what had just set him off. 

            “You deceived me!  You lying piece of filth!  I was so excited at the idea of ruining you, and now I see you’ve already been spoiled!” Oikawa raged.

            “Wwhat?” Hatano asked.  Oikawa was making no sense. 

            But then, when Oikawa stabbed a finger at Hatano’s chest, and jabbed it against his worst scar, Hatano started to realize what the man’s problem might be. 

            “I should have been the first to have my way with you!  But someone else plucked my fruit!” Oikawa snarled at him.  “Who was it?  Miyoshi?  That sly bastard was too intent on keeping you to himself.  Or the old man?  I thought there might be a reason he collected so many pretty things.  One of the others?  Who!”

            Hatano stared up at him, pretending to still be confused, as he continued trying to force feeling back into his right arm.  What Oikawa was saying made some sense now.  Not that it actually made sense but Hatano could see the pattern of his demented logic, at least.  From an outside perspective.  Oikawa seemed to be the kind of man who had a thing for virgins.  And now he thought Hatano wasn’t one, after getting a look at his scars.  Hatano could understand why he would think that, because his scars were horrible to look at.  The worst one, he’d received in the warehouse, eight years ago.  The men who’d been filming him in their snuff film had started carving on him with a knife for kicks.  They’d cut a long, grisly strip out of his chest, that had severed one of his nipples.  Hatano could dimly remember the man saying something about it being a souvenir.  That was right before all the rest of his memories of that night filled up with a reddish haze.  He remembered the way it felt when he snapped the bones of that man’s arm so they punctured his skin a bit more clearly.  And the way the cartilage in the man’s nose had squelched when Hatano smashed it into his brain.  That was a better memory. 

            But the disfiguring scar that the man had left him with may have been the worst of his scars, but it wasn’t the only one.  Also, permanently etched into Hatano’s skin, were scars left from bite marks, in the unmistakable shape of human teeth, and scratch scars that were clearly from human fingernails.  Those were from his days in the Ring.  Souvenirs and lessons from long dead opponents he’d been matched up against.  Everyone there fought tooth and nail.  Often literally.  The combination of all those scars, Hatano knew, made him look like he was someone’s bitch.  And that’s how Oikawa had interpreted them.  Even though in actuality, Hatano was still a virgin.

            “Worthless!” Oikawa cried, striking Hatano across the face again.  “You’re worthless now!  Damaged goods!  Why are you even still alive!”

            Hatano smirked bitterly at the bastard.  He’d wondered that himself, many times.  No matter how you looked at it, he should have been long dead.  In the alley with his parents, in the warehouse during that snuff film, in the Ring, after dozens of fights to the death.  He used to ask himself that question because he hated himself, and his life.  But then D-Agency saved him.  Jitsui held out his hand, and brought him home, and his life had changed completely.  Now, when he asked himself that question, it was never without wonder.  How had he survived such impossible odds to end up with the only people in the world who could have possibly accepted him, fixed him, and loved him?  Hatano didn’t know if there were really such things as miracles, or destiny.  But if they existed, he knew that Jitsui, and D-Agency as a whole, were his.  More than that, they were his answer to that question now.  He was alive because of them.  For them.  And he was going back to them, no matter what.

            With a ferocity that he hadn’t used since his days in the Ring, Hatano launched himself at Oikawa, using every bit of strength that he had.  It was a pathetic attack.  The drugs made him so heavy, slow, and weak.  But Hatano made up for that with nastiness.  He latched his hand onto the side of Oikawa’s face and managed to grip and tangle his four fingers in Oikawa’s hair.  But his thumb sought out Oikawa’s eye and stabbed into the socket, puncturing it. 

            Oikawa screamed and flailed.  Hatano clung to him with his right hand, and tried to go for his throat with his left.  But he’d never had the advantage.  Not even with his surprise attack, or the gruesomeness of his attack.  Oikawa’s flails were frantic, and full of the strength that you only got when you were panicking.  He dislodged Hatano, who fell back to the floor.  Then Oikawa was on top of him, hands on his throat.

            “You little bastard!  You damned insect!  You miserable creature!” Oikawa screamed.  His remaining eye gleamed with psychosis, while his ruined eye wept blood.  His fingers tightened around Hatano’s neck with crushing strength.  “You die now!  I’ll kill you!  Die!  Just die!”

            No, Hatano thought, trying to reach up in vain.  His vision was rapidly darkening.  And deep down he knew it was over.  This was the end for him.  He’d failed, and now he would never see Jitsui or the others again.  He would be avenged.  D-Agency would see to that.  But that wasn’t much comfort to Hatano right then.  The pain of losing them was too much worse.  Tears filled Hatano’s eyes as the world went completely dark.

            And then even the darkness disappeared.  Or at least Hatano’s ability to perceive it was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Oikawa laughed uncontrollably as he choked the life out of the broken boy on the ground beneath him.  He couldn’t help himself.  There was nothing really funny about this.  His left eye was leaking tears and blood, and he knew it was a complete mess.  And it hurt.  And even worse, the boy, Hatano, wasn’t what he’d thought.  Someone had spoiled his prize before he even got to taste him.  And now he was dead.  Oikawa could feel it the moment the life left Hatano’s body.  A shudder passed through his body, and then he just went limp.  All the fight was gone from him.  And his face smoothed out, making him look like he was sleeping.

            “I’m sorry,” Oikawa giggled, releasing Hatano’s throat and caressing his cheek.  “It would have been wonderful.  I would have made you scream with pleasure.  If you hadn’t let someone else make you worthless first.  But this is the way it was always going to end.  Oh, sweet, spoiled child.  I wish I could have found you when you were still pure.  I bet you would have been just delicious.”

            “You!” shouted an unfamiliar voice, suddenly, startling Oikawa out of his reverie.  “Get away from him!  Right now!”

            Oikawa twisted and saw a stranger stumbling into the room.  The stranger had a gun.  The gun belonging to one of Oikawa’s bodyguards, if he wasn’t mistaken.  And the stranger was bleeding.  His stomach was marked by a large circle of blood, even though he held one hand pressed against it, trying to stem the flow of it.

            “Who are you?” Oikawa asked very annoyed.  It was clear that this man had just had a tangle with his guards.  At least one of them.  Who was probably dead, since he’d lost his gun.  The other might or might not still be around.  But if he’d let this man get this far, he was clearly worthless as a guard.  Oikawa would have to deal with this interloper himself.

            “Agent Alain Lernier,” the man said coldly.  “Interpol.”

            “Interpol?  Those pests,” Oikawa said scornfully. 

            “Get away from the boy,” Alain said again.  “Right now.”

            “Don’t worry about him,” Oikawa said, and he slapped Hatano’s lifeless face just because he could.  “He’s dead.  I can’t hurt him anymore now.”

            “For your sake, you better be wrong.  Now get away from him!” Alain shouted.  He limped forward, closer to Oikawa, his gun held constantly aimed on him.

            “I’ll be frank, Mr. Lernier.  What will it take to get you to leave this building and forget what you saw here today?” Oikawa asked. 

            “There’s no amount of money in the world that could make me do that,” said Alain.  His voice was very soft and dangerous.  “I came here for the boy.  And this is your last chance.  Get away from him now.”

            Oikawa ignored the warning and reached out to grab Hatano’s body, meaning to take the boy in his arms, and mock cradle him, just to annoy this pesky Interpol agent.  “This boy?  Well I’m afraid you’re too late, because –”

            A soft noise, like a champagne cork popping off, cut Oikawa off.  And he felt a pain like a bee sting in his chest.   “What?” he asked, looking down.  There was a red circle on his shirt.  A bullet hole?  How?  But he was unarmed!  And not enough of a threat to the dead boy to merit shooting, even if the brat was still alive and wasn’t beyond hurting now!  Oikawa knew how things worked!  Alain Lernier wasn’t playing by the rules!

            “That’s not fair,” he whined to Alain.  Right before Alain’s next shot put a hole in his forehead and dropped him to the ground, stone dead before he landed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Alain limped forward as quickly as he could, and dropped to his knees beside Shimano’s motionless body.  He ignored Oikawa, now that the corrupt businessman was nothing more than a corpse.  Oikawa didn’t matter anymore.  Nothing mattered now, except for the boy Alain had spent the last eight years of his life searching for, who was now lying so still on the floor.

            “Shimano?” Alain called to him, rolling him onto his back and checking for breathing.  “Shimano!”

            No breathing.  No pulse either, Alain soon determined, after resting his fingers against the boy’s throat. 

            “No,” Alain said hoarsely.  It was like a nightmare.  Shimano couldn’t be dead.  Not now that he had finally found him.  “No.  Not like this.”

            He adjusted Shimano’s head carefully, to make sure his airways were open.  Then he bent down and pressed his mouth over the boy’s mouth, breathing into him.

            “Come back,” Alain whispered, as he switched to giving Shimano chest compressions.  “You can’t die now, Shimano.  Come back.”

            Alain knew that he was in no shape to be administering CPR.  His stomach wound was rapidly draining his strength, and his blood.  Which was dripping down onto Shimano, staining his shirt.  And giving Shimano CPR essentially meant that he was breathing for the boy.  And was the sole force cycling blood through his body, as he tried to coax his heart back into working on its own.  Even on a good day, emergency resuscitation was exhausting.  Now it was taking everything Alain had.  But for Shimano, he would gladly give everything he had left. 

            “Come back,” pleaded Alain.  “Please.  You have to live, Shimano.  Come back . . .”

            His strength was fading.  Alain knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.  The pain in his stomach was unbearable now.  His own breathing was ragged.  It was only pure strength of will that kept him going.  How could he come this far just to fail?

            “Shimano . . . please . . .  please . . .”

            Then Shimano coughed.  It was a hoarse, painful sound.  But it was the most beautiful sound Alain had ever heard.  He almost laughed as the boy’s eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, but they quickly zeroed in on his face, and Alain could swear that he saw a spark of recognition there.  Alain felt wetness on his cheeks.  Tears.  Well, that was okay, he supposed.  Shimano was alright.  It was okay to be happy enough to cry about that.

            “Shimano,” Alain rasped, bowing his head.  “Thank God.”

            Shimano tried to speak.  But the noise that came out of his abused throat was impossible to understand.  He winced and blinked up at Alain, his own eyes filling with tears that spilled over.  And Alain realized that maybe the boy was scared.  They had never met.  He couldn’t know Alain was there to help him.

            “Shimano . . . my name is Alain Lernier,” Alain introduced himself.  “I’m from Interpol.  And . . . I’ve been looking for you . . . for a very long time.”  And then he slumped to the ground, dizziness overtaking him.  He heard Shimano cry out as he hit the floor.  And somewhere far below him, he heard a door slam open.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Hatano struggled to sit up.  His throat felt like it was on fire and his eyes were burning, and the drugs were still in his system, making him slow and clumsy, but he had to move.  He had to.  He nearly fell flat on his face, moments after managing to sit upright.  Off to one side, he saw Oikawa’s corpse, a bullet hole decorating his forehead.  But Hatano didn’t have time to spare the dead bastard any more attention.  His entire focus was turned toward Alain, who was now lying on the floor.  It seemed as though their positions had just reversed. 

            “A . . . lain . . .” Hatano choked out, reaching for the man.  He blinked away tears so he could see a bit clearer, but what he saw filled him with dread.  It was bad.  Alain had been shot in the stomach.  That alone would have put him in intensive care in the hospital.  But now the whole front of his shirt was soaked in blood.  “Alain!”

            He caught the man’s hand with both of his, and held on.  He didn’t know why.  He couldn’t save Alain this way.  He couldn’t save Alain at all.  Not even a hospital could save him now.  Hatano knew this, and he knew Alain knew it too.  Maybe if he’d turned around and sought help as soon as he’d taken that bullet to the stomach, he would have been able to survive.  But going this long without getting medical attention had doomed him.

            There was a lot Hatano didn’t understand.  How was Alain even here?  He knew the man had wanted to save him, and had failed to save him in the warehouse all those years ago.  And he had been looking for him ever since.  But how was he here now?  And why?  Why go to all this trouble just for him?  Alain didn’t know Hatano.  He owed Hatano nothing.  But he’d just laid down his life for him.  Why?  Why would he do that?

            “Alain!” Hatano cried again, squeezing the man’s hand.  “Alain!”

            Alain smiled up at him sadly.

            Then Hatano heard footsteps.  Footsteps that he recognized.  Kaminaga’s, when he was trying to balance his priorities between stealth and speed.  Kaminaga was here.  D-Agency was here.  They could help!  They could do something!

            “Kaminaga!” he screamed, his voice hoarse and raw from the abuse his throat had suffered.  “Kaminaga!  Help!”

            He heard the footsteps grow louder as Kaminaga abandoned stealth and opted just for speed at his plea for help.

            “Alain, hold on,” croaked Hatano, squeezing the man’s hand tighter.  “My friends are coming.  Just hold on.”

            Alain gave him a doting look.  And Hatano saw that Alain knew too.  Nothing could save him now.  But strangely Alain didn’t seem upset by that.  “Shimano . . . it’s alright.”

            “No,” Hatano cried.  “Just hold on!”

            “Hatano!” Kaminaga shouted.

            “Alain!”  Oh.  Detective Sakuma was here too.  That’s right.  He was Alain’s friend, Hatano remembered.  He looked up to see both Kaminaga and Sakuma running toward him and Alain.  Miyoshi and Odagiri were right behind them. 

            “Hatano!” Kaminaga reached him first, dropping to his knees and skidding several feet on the floor to reach him faster.  The next thing Hatano knew, he was wrapped in a bear hug, and Kaminaga was murmuring incoherently, as he squeezed Hatano tight.  Odagiri went to Oikawa’s corpse to confirm that he was dead.  Miyoshi dropped down beside Hatano as well, placing a hand carefully on his shoulder, and looking over what he could see of Hatano for injuries.  Sakuma went to Alain.

            “Alain!  Shit,” Sakuma swore, as he dropped to his knees beside his friend.

            “Sakuma,” Alain said, reaching for him.  Somehow Hatano had been pulled away from him, so both his hands were free now.  Sakuma took Alain’s hand in his own. 

            “Alain . . .” Sakuma was clearly at a loss of what to say.  What did you say to someone who was dying and knew it? 

            “I did it, Sakuma,” Alain said weakly.  “I saved him.  I saved Shimano Ryousuke.”

            Hatano whimpered.  Kaminaga squeezed him tighter, but that didn’t make anything better.  This was his fault, he realized.  Alain had only come here because of him.

            “Yeah,” Sakuma said, trying to smile.  “Yeah, you did.  I knew you could do it.”

            Alain gave a soft, breathless laugh.  “You were the only one.  And I almost didn’t.  It was a near thing.”

            “But you did do it,” Sakuma said.  “That’s all that matters.”

            Alain laughed again.  Then winced, his face twisting with pain.  “Hey . . . I need a favor.”

            “Anything,” Sakuma immediately promised.

            “Keep an eye on him for me?” Alain asked.  “I’m not . . . going to be around to adopt him.  He’ll need . . . someone to watch out for him.  Will you?”

            “Of course I will,” Sakuma said.  “You think I’d let your hard work go to waste?”

            Alain was fading.  They could all tell.  His voice was growing weaker, and his eyes were glazing over rapidly. 

            “Thanks.  You’re the best.”

            “No.  You are,” Sakuma said.  He was on the verge of tears.  But he held them back admirably for his friend’s sake.

            “Heh.  Oh.  Make sure . . . make sure . . . he knows it’s not his fault,” Alain said breathily.  “He’s just a kid . . . Kids blame themselves.”

            “I’ll make sure he knows,” Sakuma said.  “I won’t let him blame himself.”

            “Good . . . _Merci . . . mon ami_ . . .” Alain said, with a tired smile.  The smile of a man ready to let go.

            Hatano cried out and managed to disentangle himself from Kaminaga’s arms.  He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside the dying man.  “Alain . . .” he whimpered.  “Alain . . .”

            Alain looked up at him, and his eyes regained a little bit of light.  He reached up with one shaking hand and touched Hatano’s face.  “Shimano . . .”

            Hatano almost begged for him not to go.  But he stopped himself just in time.  He wouldn’t ask the impossible of this man.  He had no right to ask anything of him.  The man had just given his life for Hatano.  And he seemed to be at peace now.  The only thing Hatano could do for him was let him die serenely.

            Oh.  There was something he needed to do.  Something he needed to say.  He knew what it was now.  The words he needed to tell Alain.

            Alain’s hand started to fall limply away from Hatano’s face.  Hatano caught it, in both his own, and cradled it, pressing it back to his cheek.

            “Thank . . . you . . .” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. 

            Alain smiled again.  For a moment it looked like he had something he wanted to say.  But before he could, the light faded from his eyes, and Alain Lernier slipped away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Notes: I dare you to go listen to David Gray’s cover of the song “Say Hello, Wave Goodbye.”  Right now.  You can find it on a number of internet radio sites, or on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bzdrabPpRE).  Make sure it’s David Gray’s cover.  Because his voice is just perfect for that song.  Go on, I dare you.

 

 

            Next chapter will be the conclusion of Hatano’s Arc.  And in the notes I’ll have some announcements about how I plan to proceed with this fic from here.  In the meantime . . . show of hands.  How many people did I succeed in making cry?

            Also, if your heart needs to be healed after this chapter, please check out this picture drawn by Tivanny of Tazaki and his adorable, obese rabbit that was mentioned a few chapters back: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148204560221> 


	11. Hatano's Arc: Conclusion

            The rest of the night felt almost like a dream to Sakuma.  A bad one.  One where the best friend he ever had just died, and there was still a ton of shit that had to be taken care of, not the least of which included deciding what to do about three dead bodies.  And the two currently still alive witnesses that Alain had locked in the cab’s trunk.

            An argument broke out between Sakuma and Miyoshi.  The young mafioso wanted to bury the whole thing.  Literally.  Sakuma adamantly refused to let that happen.  Alain Lernier would not be buried in some shallow desert grave.  Nor would his body be found and written off as the victim of some garden variety crime, to be returned to France for burial in some untimely manner.  Alain had died a fucking hero, taking down a fucking serial killer, and no one was going to sweep that under the rug.

            To his surprise, Hatano backed him up.  Even though Hatano wasn’t really in any shape to be arguing.  The kid was a wreck, alternately sobbing uncontrollably, and sitting silently, like he was lost and didn’t know where he was.  But he had spoken up on Sakuma’s, and Alain’s behalf, insisting that Alain be given the credit he was due for saving him.  That was when Jitsui arrived and ferociously backed Hatano up, literally ripping Hatano away from Kaminaga, who’d been holding him in a protective embrace, and puffing himself up like an angry, mother cat defending its kitten. 

            But Fukumoto was the one who finally got Miyoshi to give in.  “Hatano needs the hospital for his throat,” he said solemnly.  “Oikawa could have done internal damage that we can’t see yet.  Since we need to have a cover story prepared anyway, in case there is some sort of damage that requires the hospital to file a police report, we might as well shade it in with truths.”

            So a doctored version of the truth was prepared, and most of D-Agency made themselves scarce before Sakuma called the incident in.  The official story was that Alain had called Sakuma about the abduction.  That much was true, and the stupid valet who’d let it happen would testify about the earliest events of the incident.  Then Sakuma had gone after Alain himself, with Jitsui and Fukumoto, who he’d been on break with at the time.  He hadn’t called it into the Metro sooner because of the two suspected criminals’ insistence that they not, as well as Sakuma’s own orders to maintain his cover.  When they arrived at the property where Hatano had been taken, Alain had already dealt with everyone on the premise on his own.  The last part, at least, was true, and the two witnesses in the cab trunk were left alive to confirm it.  Sakuma did wonder how long they would remain alive after their statements were taken.  All of D-Agency had murder in their eyes whenever those two were mentioned.  But D-Agency wasn’t made up of two-bit thugs who did whatever crime struck their fancy.  They were career criminals.  They knew how the game was played, and how to wait for the right moment to get rid of their problems.  And at the moment, Sakuma couldn’t find it in himself to give a single damn if they paid someone to kill off the cab driver and Oikawa’s guard in prison.  Why should those pieces of garbage get to live when Alain was dead because of their actions?

            There was a part of him that knew what he was doing was wrong.  As a cop he should be reporting the full truth about the incident.  Not taking the easy way out because it was convenient.  Or because he would likely either end up dead or fired if he tried to do things by the book.  But Sakuma was too damned tired to care. 

            It was a long night.  After the majority of D-Agency disappeared from the scene, he waited with Jitsui, Fukumoto, and Hatano for the ambulance and other cops to arrive.  The Metro showed up, took their statements, and started processing the property.  Then Miyoshi showed up, with Odagiri as a bodyguard, acting as though this was his first time at the property, and stonewalling the Metro from asking his employees any further questions, threatening lawsuits and the like, then finally whisking them all away, Sakuma, whose alleged cover remained nominally intact, included.  They took Hatano to the hospital themselves and waited while he was examined and his throat x-rayed.  The rest of D-Agency showed up there to meet them.  Everyone except Yuuki.  Sakuma ended up waiting with them there, until the doctors discharged Hatano, saying that he was in no further danger from his injuries. 

            Then Sakuma slipped away as they were crowding around their youngest.  His promise to Alain was heavy on his mind, but he knew that right now he wasn’t needed.  And he’d had as much of D-Agency as he could stand for the night.  He also had things to do that didn’t involve them.

            He returned to his apartment, then looked up the number for the San Francisco Interpol office where Alain had once worked.  It was the middle of the night, but in offices like that, someone was always there, if only to answer the phones.  He left a message to Alain’s former boss about his demise.  Sakuma was well aware that when someone died overseas, returning their body home for burial could be a hassle and then some.  Especially if there was a police investigation going on.  But since Alain was an Interpol agent . . . since Alain had been an Interpol agent, his employers could cut through some of the red tape.  They could get him home and put him to rest faster than Sakuma could alone. 

            It was then, and only then, that Sakuma finally allowed himself to stop holding everything in.  He sank down on his sofa and buried his face into his hands, shoulders shaking as he tried not to cry.  But then he gave up.  Because what did it matter?  There was no one there to see, and even if there were, his friend had just died.  Appearances meant very little in the face of grief like this. 

            He just couldn’t believe Alain was gone.  He didn’t want to believe it.  The thought that he would never be able to call him up again, when he was having a bad day, or stay up later than either of them should, drinking beer with him, it was like a knife in his gut.  They had been neighbors for a short time, but in that time they’d become genuine friends.  Hell, Alain had probably been his best friend.  And even after Alain went back to Europe, and even after Sakuma spent three years practically incommunicado while he was undercover, they’d stayed friends.  The bond they’d formed had been real.  And now it was severed.  And it hurt so damn much. 

            “Dammit, Alain,” Sakuma sobbed into his fists.  “Damn you.  Why?”

            He wanted someone to blame.  D-Agency would have been a convenient target.  But he knew in his heart that was wrong.  In this matter, the worst thing they were truly guilty of, was forging a new identity for a thirteen-year-old orphan, and not reporting how they’d found him to the police.  Them taking in Shimano Ryousuke and turning him into Hatano had been an act of kindness on their part.  They had been the ones to originally save him, after he’d been failed by the police and Interpol for years.  Sakuma couldn’t fault them for that.  They could have never known that years later, the boy they took in would get abducted by a serial killing pedophile on the exact same night that the Interpol Agent who’d been looking for him had come to town.

            No.  If anything, D-Agency had done its best to keep Hatano away from Oikawa.  They’d done so successfully for three years.  They’d protected him and every other young man who fit Oikawa’s profile, who entered their casino, for years from that sick sexual predator.  It had been the Metro who didn’t just turn a blind eye to Oikawa’s crimes, but actually helped cover them up.  Which made the Metro as much to blame for Alain’s death as Oikawa.

            Sakuma wanted a drink.  Needed one, really badly.  If he’d known Alain was coming into town, he’d have picked up beer.  But he hadn’t known Alain was going to catch the next plane to Vegas, when he’d gotten off the phone with his friend the previous night.  He’d thought Alain understood that coming here was a bad idea.  And he’d drank his last beer after that stressful conversation.  Hard liquor would have been nice too, but Sakuma didn’t have any on hand.  But perhaps that was a good thing.  If he started drinking, he had the feeling he wouldn’t stop, until he was either blacked out, or the bottle was empty.  He would do anything to take the edge off this pain in his chest, caused by his friend’s sudden absence. 

            Then there was a knock on his door.  Sakuma clenched his jaw and stood up.  He didn’t know who it could be, especially not at this hour.  But it was because it was this hour that he wouldn’t leave them waiting there, no matter how much he didn’t want to see anyone.  His apartment wasn’t in a bad neighborhood, but it wasn’t in a great one either.  And crime rates in Vegas were high.  It might be Honma.  That was Sakuma’s most rational guess.  Honma might not actually be a friend, but he’d become closer than just an acquaintance.  Sakuma didn’t want that man’s blood on his hands too.

            But when he opened the door, he received a surprise.  It wasn’t Honma standing on his doorstep.  It was Miyoshi.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Hatano kept his face pressed against Jitsui’s chest the entire ride home.  He cried on and off, muffling his sobs against Jitsui’s waistcoat.  It didn’t work completely.  He knew the others could still hear.  But they didn’t say anything about it.  Jitsui just wrapped his arms around Hatano, and held him tight.  When Hatano was at his worst, Jitsui rocked him back and forth, and rested his chin on top of Hatano’s head.  When they got back to the casino, Fukumoto carried him inside, and all the way down to Sublevel D, despite Hatano protesting that he could walk on his own.  But he didn’t protest too hard.  He felt too drained and empty. 

            Everyone was there.  All of the inner circle.  Even Yuuki-san, who was waiting at the elevator that led from the parking garage.  Just waiting.  Not even pretending to be doing something else.  That was how worried he had been, and how much he cared about Hatano.  And all the others were here too, wanting to make sure Hatano was alright.  It made his chest hurt and his eyes burn.  For awhile he thought he’d never be back here at D-Agency again.  He thought he’d never see these men who’d taken him in and made him part of their family again.  He owed them everything.  And now he owed another man too.  But he would never be able to repay Alain Lernier.  Alain had died to save him.

            The rest of the inner circle understood Hatano.  They always had, right from when they first took him in.  They just understood that sometimes he had moods, and needed to not talk, or be prodded, because he just didn’t know how to tell them what was wrong, or even always know what was wrong to begin with.  Whenever that happened, they always gave him space.  And now was no exception.  They knew that he couldn’t talk right now, and that trying to press him to would only make everything worse.  So even though they all really wanted to be near him, and just be with him, they didn’t stop him when he disappeared into his room.

            Hatano needed a shower, so badly.  He still felt disgusting from the way Oikawa had touched him.  He hadn’t even washed his face yet from when that sick freak had licked him.  He was exhausted too.  Hatano thought that it would be wonderful just to fall into the oblivion of sleep, so he wouldn’t have to think about how horrible the night had been, and how a good man had died for him.  But he needed to get clean first.

            Undressing was too much trouble.  Hatano was too fatigued.  No matter.  His clothes were ruined anyway, stained with Alain’s blood that had fallen on him when Alain had revived him.  So Hatano simply got into the shower with all his clothes still on, turned the water on as hot as it would go, and then sank to the tile floor, his back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them.

            That was how Jitsui found him fifteen minutes later when he came in to check on Hatano.  Hatano wasn’t surprised to see him there.  Jitsui always had to make sure Hatano was okay.  And he knew when to give Hatano space and when to seek him out.  Jitsui didn’t say anything about the unorthodoxy of what Hatano was doing.  He simply removed his own shoes and jacket, and then joined Hatano, sitting under the water, with one arm wrapped around him.

            “It’s my fault,” said Hatano brokenly.

            “No,” Jitsui said.  “You heard what Alain said.  This wasn’t your fault.”

            “I just wanted to see him,” Hatano said.  “I don’t even know why.  I just wanted to meet him.  And I got him killed.”

            “No, Hatano,” Jitsui said.  “That’s not true.  You know it’s not true.”

            “He died because he came to save me,” said Hatano.  “How is that not my fault?”

            “Because you never asked him to come after you, or set him up for his death, or anything of the sort.  Oikawa’s to blame.  You _know_ that.”

            And Hatano did.  But that didn’t completely absolve him of any guilt.

            “I don’t know why.  I don’t know why he kept looking for me all those years,” Hatano said.  “Or why he was willing to die for me.  I just don’t know.”

            “I know why,” said Jitsui, squeezing him tighter, then resting his chin atop Hatano’s head.

            “Don’t you ever die for me.  Don’t you ever even think about it.  I don’t want that,” said Hatano.  “I don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

            “Do you think I don’t feel the same about you?” Jitsui asked.  “Do you think I want to live in a world without you?”

            “I don’t care!  I don’t want you to die for me!  You or any of the others!  I couldn’t stand that!” Hatano cried.

            “Alright,” Jitsui said.  “We won’t.  We’ll just keep you safe so we never have to.”

            It wasn’t that simple.  Hatano knew this.  But Jitsui made it seem like it was.  And when Jitsui was like this, it was so easy to believe him.  Hatano raised his arms and wrapped them around Jitsui, and clung to him as tightly as he could.  Then his tears started flowing again.  Jitsui held him as he sobbed like a child.  The water from the shower washed away his tears as quickly as they could fall.

            He cried for a long time.  It felt like hours.  But it couldn’t have really been that long.  At least he didn’t think it could.  But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hatano was all cried out.  His sobs turned dry, then slowed, and finally stopped.  He finally had no more tears.  Jitsui held him the whole time.  And when he saw that Hatano had been reduced to complete and utter exhaustion, he stood up, pulling Hatano up with him.  He draped Hatano’s arm over his shoulder, then wrapped his own arm around Hatano’s waist, to support his smaller friend and keep him standing.  Then he turned off the water and opened the shower door.

            They were both thoroughly soaked, and left a trail of water in their wake as they made their way through the bathroom, then into Hatano’s room.  Jitsui had Hatano sit down at the foot of his bed, and then started peeling off his wet clothes.

            Hatano’s mind flashed back to earlier that night, for the briefest of moments, as Jitsui started undoing his shirt buttons.  He remembered the panic he’d felt when Oikawa had stripped him . . . but this wasn’t Oikawa.  This was just Jitsui.  Hatano trusted him completely.  He knew Jitsui would never do anything bad to him. 

            “Where are your pajamas?” Jitsui asked, after retrieving a towel, using it to get most of the water off Hatano, then dropping it over his waist, so that he was at least a little covered.

            “I . . . don’t know.”  Hatano tried to remember.  “Oh.  Laundry.  I was going to wash them . . .”

            Jitsui opened one of the drawers in Hatano’s closet instead, and came back with a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts for him.  The shirt, Hatano saw, was one of his oldest ones.  Fukumoto had given it to him his first month at D-Agency.  It had a bear on it.  When Fukumoto first gave it to him, it had been big on Hatano.  Now it was just the right size for him.

            “Arms up,” Jitsui ordered.  Hatano obeyed, and let Jitsui pull the shirt down over his head.  Then Jitsui slid one of Hatano’s feet through each leg of his boxers, and slid them up to Hatano’s knees.  Hatano grabbed the waistline and pulled them up the rest of the way on his own.  Then he flopped backwards onto his bed, exhausted.

            “Not yet,” said Jitsui.  “I want you under the covers.  You’re not completely dry and I don’t want you catching cold.”

            Hatano held his hands up for Jitsui to take, then Jitsui pulled him up so he was sitting.  Then he helped Hatano up, and to the top of his bed, where he pulled back his sheets for him.  And Hatano flopped down on his bed again.

            “Stay with me?” Hatano pleaded. 

            Jitsui patted him on the top of the head, smiling gently.  “You know I always will.”

            But then he stepped back, away from Hatano, and Hatano whined in alarm.

            “It’s okay,” Jitsui said quickly, raising his hands like he was surrendering.  “I just need to get out of these wet clothes.  I’m not going anywhere.”

            Only then could Hatano relax.

            Jitsui stripped down, out of his wet things, and gathered them up, along with Hatano’s, to drop in the laundry basket, even though most of them were probably unsalvageable.  Then Jitsui went back to Hatano’s closet to borrow some clothes for the night.  He came back wearing a pair of black shorts and another one of Hatano’s old t-shirts.  His Nine-eighty shirt, which had been a gift from Kaminaga.

            “Lights on or off?” Jitsui asked.

            “On,” whispered Hatano.  That way if he woke up during the night, he’d be able to see Jitsui first thing.  And he’d know exactly where he was.  He wouldn’t work himself into a panic, thinking he was back in his cage in the Ring, or somewhere else that was even worse.  Hatano had the feeling that he was going to be having nightmares again for awhile.

            Jitsui climbed into bed, and Hatano slid over to make room for him.  Then he latched onto the older boy as soon as Jitsui had settled the covers down over them.  He nestled as close to him as he could, tucking himself under Jitsui’s chin, and grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt, just to make sure Jitsui wouldn’t be going anywhere.  Jitsui’s arms twined around him too, wrapping him in a protective embrace.

            But even then, Hatano couldn’t sleep.  He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but sleep wouldn’t come.  And he could feel that Jitsui was still awake too.  Probably worrying because Hatano hadn’t fallen asleep.

            Hatano thought about apologizing for that, but he knew that would just upset Jitsui.  So he thought about what he could say that wouldn’t upset Jitsui.  Then something occurred to him.  He remembered his last words to Alain.  They had felt right.  And they were the words, Hatano realized, he’d wanted to tell Alain from the moment he knew he had to speak to Alain.  Because even if Alain hadn’t saved him, he’d never given up on him.  Hatano had wanted him to know that . . . that he appreciated it. 

            But Jitsui had been the one to save him.  The rest of D-Agency had helped, but it was Jitsui who was responsible for bringing Hatano into the family.  The others had released everyone else that the Ring was holding, then let them make their own way.  They would have done the same for Hatano, though back then he was still Shimano.  And that would have been fine.  That would have been more than Shimano had ever expected anyone to do for him.  Just being freed was so great a boon in and of itself, that he almost hadn’t been able to believe they would just let him go.  But Jitsui had convinced Shimano to come with him.  He’d convinced Shimano that he wanted to pay him back for saving his life (something that Shimano had done purely for his own vengeful reasons) and bargained with him to get him to come along with the rest of D-Agency, promising him food, a safe place to stay the night, and most importantly to Shimano, a shower.  Then, after that first night, Jitsui had convinced him to stay.  He convinced the rest of D-Agency that Shimano could be an asset, and D-Agency had accepted him.  He’d gone from being Shimano, a filthy little half-feral orphan with nothing and no one, whose only use was cracking skulls in cage fights, to being Hatano, a member of D-Agency’s inner circle, and a loyal bodyguard and trusted messenger, who put his martial arts skills to use for his new family. 

            Hatano had thanked Jitsui for everything he’d done for him.  Many times.  But . . . there was something that he hadn’t told Jitsui.  Something that he knew he really should, but it just wasn’t the kind of thing guys normally talked about.

            “I love you.”

            Hatano felt Jitsui stiffen in surprise.

            “W-what?  Hatano?” Jitsui sounded baffled.

            “I wanted to make sure you knew,” said Hatano.  “I think you did know.  But I’d never told you.  And I knew that I should.  So now I have.  I love you.  Because . . . because you were the only one who . . . because when I had no one you . . . because you’re you, and you’re perfect, and you’re always there for me, and sometimes I can’t even believe someone like you exists.  You’re everything to me.  I love you.”

            Jitsui pulled back an arm’s length, and Hatano blinked up at him a little apprehensively.  Had he said too much?

            But no, Jitsui was looking at him with such a gentle expression.  The only thing in his gaze was pure adoration.  Then he leaned in and softly kissed Hatano, first over one eyelid, then the other, then finished with a tender kiss to his forehead, before tucking Hatano back under his chin and holding him tight.  “I love you too, Hatano.”

            Hatano nestled in deeper, curling up as close to him as he could.  He’d kept his eyelids closed after Jitsui kissed them, and now he felt a bit better.  Not completely better.  But for now, enough. 

            He still lay there awake, unable to sleep, for nearly an hour.  But Jitsui held him patiently the whole time, until he was finally able to drift off to sleep, safe in his best friend’s arms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “Miyoshi.” Sakuma stared at the younger man on his doorstep, and suddenly felt over conscious of his own sloppy and disheveled appearance.  He knew his eyes were red from crying.  Possible the rest of his face too.  He still wore the same clothes from earlier that evening, and they were rumpled from the night’s events, and bore a few stains of Alain’s blood.

            Meanwhile Miyoshi looked as perfect as ever.  He had changed out of the outfit he’d worn earlier that evening, even though the last time Sakuma had seen him in it, he’d looked just fine.  But now instead of his burgundy-tinted three piece suit, he wore a more casual blue one, over a plain white dress shirt.  No waistcoat, no tie. 

            “Detective,” Miyoshi greeted him.

            Sakuma sighed.  “Did you come here just to mock me?”

            For a moment Miyoshi looked taken back.  But then he quickly controlled his expression again.  “No,” he said, and raised one hand to show Sakuma that he carried a bottle of whiskey.  “I came to drink with you.”

            There were a million reasons not to let Miyoshi into his apartment.  But one very good one to admit him.  He had alcohol.  That ended up being the deal breaker.  But Sakuma regretted it almost immediately after shutting the door behind Miyoshi, when he saw the aristocratic young man looking around his meager apartment with a critical eye, probably judging everything in sight.  But he didn’t comment.  Thankfully.  Sakuma was spared from having to try to figure out a way to throw him out but keep the whiskey. 

            “We didn’t notice when you slipped away, earlier,” said Miyoshi, following Sakuma into the apartment’s tiny kitchen.

            “You guys didn’t need me anymore,” said Sakuma.  “And I needed to be alone.”

            “You took a cab from the hospital?” Miyoshi asked.

            Sakuma nodded, as he opened a cabinet and pulled out two ceramic coffee mugs.

            “If you submit your receipt to Odagiri, he’ll see that you’re compensated for it,” said Miyoshi.  “And for any other expenses that tonight caused you.  I think that suit will need to be replaced.”

            “I don’t need charity from a career criminal,” Sakuma said irritably.

            “It’s not charity, Detective,” said Miyoshi, with more patience than Sakuma expected.  “It’s both gratitude and good management ethics.  You should never have to pay out of pocket for work expenses.  No company or business worth its salt should let you.  But that aside, you and your friend saved my little brother’s life.  Your friend paid for doing so with his own life.  I’d be churlish beyond belief to ask you to pay more.”

            “Don’t,” said Sakuma.  “Don’t you dare belittle Alain’s sacrifice, and make it seem like it’s about pocket change to you.”

            “I’m sorry, Detective.  That wasn’t my intention,” said Miyoshi.  And he sounded . . . actually sincere when he said that.  And his next words even more so.  “I’d never intentionally belittle anything about the man who saved the boy I consider to be my younger brother.”

            Sakuma nodded, accepting the apology.  Then he put the two mugs down on the counter that formed sort of a small bar, which separated the tiny kitchen from the apartment’s little living room area.  

            “Have you glasses?” Miyoshi asked, staring down at the mugs with an unreadable expression.

            “I have coffee mugs.”

            “Coffee mugs will suffice,” Miyoshi said.  He glanced at the freezer.  “Would you like ice, if you have that?”

            Sakuma opened the freezer and pulled out a tray of ice cubes.  “I thought that it was considered poor taste to drink whiskey on the rocks.”

            Miyoshi removed four cubes and placed two in either mug.  Then he poured several inches of the dark amber liquid into each one.  “In many circles it is.  But this is Vegas.”

            Sakuma didn’t know if this excuse was related to the locale’s weather, or if this was a whiskey snob’s joke about the sinful nature of Vegas’s residents, but decided he didn’t care.  He returned the ice tray to the freezer then picked up his mug and took a swig.  Then his eyes bulged and he nearly choked.  The whiskey burned all the way down and left him feeling like he could breathe fire.

            “Damn.  That’s strong,” he said, a little amazed despite himself.

            “It should be,” said Miyoshi, glancing down at the bottle.

            Sakuma followed his gaze to it and was surprised to see a Japanese label.  Hibiki something.  He’d never made enough to bother even trying to care about the top shelf brands of whiskey, but Sakuma remembered his fake boss at the underground gambling den he’d last gone undercover for receiving a bottle that looked very similar to this one as a gift from the yakuza and being over the moon about it, babbling on about it being over two thousand dollars a bottle.  He looked back up at Miyoshi in disbelief.

            Miyoshi gave a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, and was probably deliberately meant to be sad.  “We’re drinking to your friend’s memory.  And, not to cheapen his memory and make it seem like I’m talking about pocket change again, but . . . well, from what I saw of him, he was more than worth this.”

            A lump formed in Sakuma’s throat and he set his whiskey down.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to drink anymore for a minute or two, until he was able to get that lump to go down again.  “Yeah,” he said softly.  “Yeah.  Alain was . . .  Alain was the best.”

            He grabbed one of the counter stools and slid it over to Miyoshi, an invitation for him to sit down.  Then he pulled out another one for himself and just tried to breathe.

            “I’m curious about something,” said Sakuma, because he needed a distraction.  “Maybe you’ll tell me now that you know I’m not pumping you for information to feed to someone else . . . because the one who was interested in that info’s now dead.  But how did D-Agency end up taking in Hatano?  What possible use did you think you could have for a thirteen-year-old kid when you made that decision?”

            Miyoshi gave another smile.  A different one.  Still not up to his usual snuff, probably out of respect for Alain’s recent departure.  But you could tell that he was remembering something fondly.  “Well, we nearly didn’t.  Didn’t take him in, that is.”

            “You released all the other slaves that the Ring was holding,” Sakuma remembered.  “What made the kid so special?”

            “He saved Jitsui’s life,” explained Miyoshi.  “Not for any altruistic reasons, we found out later.  The man who was trying to kill Jitsui was the same man who’d taken Hatano from the warehouse where he was supposed to die in that snuff film, and brought him to the Ring.  Hatano hated him above all others.  Usually that man knew not to get within grabbing distance of Hatano’s cage.  But in his haste to kill Jitsui, he either forgot or didn’t realize he was so close, and Hatano finally got his revenge.”

            “So you took him in to pay him back for that?” Sakuma asked.

            “That wasn’t the original plan,” said Miyoshi.  “Especially not after . . . heh, well . . . Jitsui let him out of his cage.  Back then he was . . . not well accustomed to people.  He wasn’t quite what you’d consider a feral child, but he had no reason to trust anyone.  He bolted for the door.  Then Fukumoto and Kaminaga entered through that door.  I was right behind them.  I saw him take Fukumoto down so fast, I couldn’t believe it.”

            “So that’s when you decided to make him into an enforcer?” Sakuma asked.  “When you saw him take down your best enforcer like it was nothing at all?”

            “No,” said Miyoshi.  “I still would have let him go with the other formerly imprisoned.  Jitsui was the one who wanted to bring him back with us.  I allowed it.”

            “Why?”  Sakuma’s throat had recovered enough for him to take another sip of whiskey.  He was more careful this time around and took a smaller sip.

            “Mostly because Jitsui clearly wanted to, very badly,” said Miyoshi.  “And I didn’t see the harm in it.  Jitsui doesn’t ask for much, but he’s a vital part of D-Agency.  He’s opened doors for us that neither my father nor I ever dreamed could be opened, or even knew were there.  I could ramble on for hours about his talents, and the things he’s done for every aspect of our business, and still barely have scratched the surface.  But I suppose I’ll simply summarize it and say that it is in D-Agency’s best interest to keep him happy.”

            “You said mostly because Jitsui wanted him,” said Sakuma.  “What was the other part of your reason?”

            “Oh?  You caught that?” Miyoshi sipped at his whiskey.

            “Yes.  I did.  So what was it?” Sakuma asked.  He had the feeling that if he wasn’t firm about this, Miyoshi would derail the conversation.

            Miyoshi smiled again.  But this time his smile was nothing like the previous ones he’d given Sakuma.  There was nothing even shadedly happy about it.  It was a smile of pure bitterness.  “Would you believe me if I told you he reminded me of myself at one time?”

            Unless he had seen that bitter smile, Sakuma wouldn’t have believed it.  He’d have thought Miyoshi was playing him.  But now, he nodded.  Seeing that look made it easy to believe that something horrible had happened to Miyoshi at some time in his life.

            “Not that I was ever as feral as he was when we found him,” said Miyoshi quickly.  “Or as filthy.  Those lowlifes in the Ring didn’t care a thing about hygiene.  One of the things in the bargain that Jitsui struck with Hatano was that if he came back with us, he would get a shower.  According to Jitsui, that was the deal breaker.  Jitsui would have literally offered him anything in the world he wanted, but even more than food, he just wanted to be clean again.”

            Just like that, the conversation was back on the track Miyoshi wanted it on.  Sakuma knew that any further questions about why Miyoshi had identified with Hatano when he was in the state they’d found him in would not be welcome, and he knew that now was not the time to press the issue.

            “I expected us to have a lot more problems with him than we did,” said Miyoshi, swirling the contents of his mug around, letting the ice clink off the sides of the cup.  “We were able to establish very quickly that he’d been held by the Ring for five whole years.  Most of their captives didn’t survive there a month, did you know?”

            “Alain mentioned it once.”

            “They’d had him since he was eight.  So his education was lacking in many areas.  I didn’t anticipate him having a near genius level IQ.  That was very helpful.  It let him catch up to the world that had changed so much while he was trapped in a cage.  But we were also aware of what happened in the warehouse, where he was supposed to die in that snuff film,” said Miyoshi.  His eyes smoldered with anger just at mentioning it.  “I expected him to have a boatload of psychological problems because of that.  And he did have problems, make no mistake.  But he also has the rare gift of being capable of quickly adapting to anything.  That was probably what allowed him to survive all he’s been through.  And why he fit into D-Agency so well.  Like calls to like, as they say.  So with that gift . . . well, it wasn’t long before we started seeing flashes of the normal, happy, cheeky little brat he always should have been.  And before we knew it, he’d wormed his way into our hearts.  We got to watch him come out of his shell.  We helped him heal.  He became part of the family, and has more than repaid us for what we did for him.  He’s saved my life twice.  Were you aware?”

            Sakuma wasn’t.  He shook his head.

            “The first time he did so, no one told him to protect me.  He just did it like it was the most natural thing for a skinny thirteen year old to take down two full grown gunmen for one of his friends,” said Miyoshi.  “I truly do consider him my little brother, you know.  I don’t just say that lightly.”

            “I believe you,” said Sakuma.

            Miyoshi noticed that Sakuma’s coffee mug was nearly empty.  He reached for the whiskey bottle and poured another two inches in it for him, then topped off his own.

            “I am . . . truly sorry,” said Miyoshi after a short silence.  “Your friend, Alain . . . I can’t even express how grateful I am to him.  I can see how much his death pains you.  And I’m so very sorry for that, Sakuma-san.”

            Sakuma rubbed the back of his wrist over his suddenly wet eyes.  Took a drink of whiskey, and savored the burn.  “A man like that, for friends beloved, or for his country fears not to perish,” he said then, without thinking.

            “The poet Horace said that, I believe,” said Miyoshi after a short pause.

            “Alain liked that quote,” said Sakuma.  “It was engraved on his watch.”

            “It suits him very much,” said Miyoshi softly.

            Sakuma nodded.  “He died . . .”  he gulped.  The lump was back in his throat.  But he forced himself to continue speaking.  “Doing what he spent the last eight years of his life trying to do.  Saving Shimano Ryousuke.  He didn’t regret it.  So I have no right to regret it.  It was how he chose to go.  But . . . what I regret . . . is how much . . . how much I’m going to miss him.”  Sakuma made a fist and ground it into his forehead, covering his eyes.  “He was . . . my best friend.  But I never told him that.  I guess I didn’t . . . didn’t think it mattered.  But now I wish I had told him . . .  I just wish . . . we had more time.  I wasn’t ready . . . for him to go.  I –”

            He broke off suddenly in surprise.  Miyoshi had reached across the few feet of distance between them, and rested his hand atop Sakuma’s head, in what could only be considered a comforting gesture.  Then, just as quickly, and actually looking surprised at himself, Miyoshi released him.  It had to be Sakuma’s imagination, but he would have sworn he saw a flush of color in Miyoshi’s cheeks.  For a moment it looked like Miyoshi was floundering.  Then he picked up the whiskey bottle again and once again topped off Sakuma’s cup.

            “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Sakuma asked, half serious, and half because he needed a distraction, any distraction.  He didn’t want to think about Alain being dead.  And maybe the alcohol was starting to go to his head.

            “Perhaps,” said Miyoshi.  “Alcohol doesn’t solve problems, but sometimes, when they hurt this much, and they’re this fresh, I think it’s alright to use it to help take the edge off of them.”

            “Amen,” Sakuma agreed.

            Miyoshi gave him a forced smile.  “So don’t mistake my good intentions for lewd ones.  I do have standards, you know.  I wouldn’t deign to stoop to such crude tactics”

            “I wasn’t suggesting you were getting me drunk to take advantage of me.”

            “Weren’t you?” Miyoshi asked.  His smile seemed a bit more real.   It sent a shot of guilt right to Sakuma’s gut.  What was he doing?  Flirting, when his best friend’s body was still cooling?

            Sakuma lowered his eyes.  This was wrong.  For so many reasons.  Not the least of them being that he was still a cop, and Miyoshi still a career criminal.  Speaking of which . . .

            “Miyoshi . . . I need to know,” said Sakuma.  “What do you want with me?”

            His tone seemed to have alerted Miyoshi to the fact that their slightly-drunken flirtations were over for now.  The young mafioso drew himself up on his stool.  Then sipped his own whiskey to buy himself some time.

            “You know I’m a cop,” said Sakuma, because he decided he needed to make himself very clear, so Miyoshi couldn’t play his way out of this.  “You’ve always known I was a cop.  All of you have.  So why did you even accept my employment application?  The Metro says you never let undercover cops into your ranks.  So what do you want with me?”

            Miyoshi sighed.  Then he looked Sakuma straight in the eye.  “I suppose I owe you an apology.  And an explanation.  And at the end of it, if you want out, I owe you that much too.  For Alain.”

            Sakuma met his gaze, unblinking.

            “A question for you first, however,” said Miyoshi.  “Do you think that Oikawa’s crimes are the only ones covered up by the Metro?”

            “If you have to ask me that, I’m going to assume the correct answer’s no,” said Sakuma.  “You’re telling me they’re covering up even more?”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi.  “And believe it or not, almost everything they’re looking the other way from, or actively helping to hide, is much worse than D-Agency’s criminal activities.  Compared to them, we’re positively tame.”

            “Then why’s the Metro so keen to take you down?” asked Sakuma.

            “Because we won’t play ball with them,” said Miyoshi.  “You see, years ago, when the Metro moved against all the mafia families that were firmly entrenched in Vegas at the time, they intentionally left several weaker families still in play.  Families run by small minded individuals who they could keep on a tight leash, and strike up deals with that would be beneficial to all parties.  That is what allowed my father to step in and set up D-Agency.  You would be amazed how little it took to topple all the Metro’s little puppets like the brainless mannequins they were.  D-Agency wasn’t even at half the strength we are today.  Our inner circle didn’t even exist at the time.  And Yuuki-san had only just adopted me.”  There was something both fond and bitter in Miyoshi’s expression and tone.  The fondness was clearly for Yuuki.  But the bitterness . . . Sakuma didn’t know.  He felt like he should, but his thoughts seemed a little slow tonight.  Blame it on the whiskey.  Or the grief.

            “They made such a big deal about the fall of organized crime in Vegas,” Miyoshi continued.  “They acted like it was such a good thing, a milestone for justice, but all the while they were really gnashing their teeth about having overplayed their hand so stupidly.  Make no mistake, organized crime and local government are always hand in glove with one another, wherever organized crime exits.  Well, almost always.  As I said, we don’t play ball.”

            “But all your predecessors did,” realized Sakuma.  “And when they wiped the heavy hitters out, and you wiped out the remainders, they lost all their payoffs.”

            “As well as any means of ensuring they could extort payoffs out of us,” said Miyoshi.  “If we’d had any real rivals for them to back, it could have been a very different story.  But they conveniently took out all our rivals, and now we’re so firmly entrenched that we can stomp out any competition before it becomes anything even resembling a threat.  And we have such good lawyers that there’s nothing they can do about it.”

            “But there’s still corruption,” said Sakuma.

            “Oh yes.  They continue to try to regain enough power to move against us,” said Miyoshi.  “Though to be fair some just want their piece of the proverbial pie.  Vegas has always attracted the overly wealthy and overly sinful.  As long as there are people willing to accept bribes, and people willing to shell out for them, that cycle is never going to change.  Oikawa, for instance, was never a threat to us.  Forgive me, I worded that poorly.  He never intended to get on the wrong side of us.  At least not until he became obsessed with Hatano.  He paid off the Metro to get out of statutory rape charges multiple times.  We knew for a fact that there were several occasions where they had him for that cold.  But certain parties in the Metro, your official boss included, were happy to make those charges go away for a price.”

            “What?” Sakuma asked.  “Muto?”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi.  “Would you like to know his price?”

            Sakuma shook his head in disbelief, but Miyoshi interpreted that as a negative.

            “Very well.  I won’t burden you with the details if you’d rather not know.”

            “I believe you,” said Sakuma, realizing that this was the truth.  Muto had been perfectly willing to risk Sakuma’s life and ruin his career to secure himself a promotion, and Sakuma was a fellow police officer.  A man like that seemed just the sort to sell off someone else’s chance at getting justice to line his own pockets.  “I even sympathize with you, God help me.  But I still don’t understand what you want with me?  Why drag me into this, Miyoshi?”

            “Because,” said Miyoshi, staring at him very solemnly, “you were the exact man I was waiting for.”

            “Er . . . pardon?” Sakuma asked, swallowing thickly.

            “A good cop,” said Miyoshi, immediately making Sakuma feel stupid.  “That is, if you believe such a thing exists.”

            “Which I do,” Sakuma said defensively.

            “The jury is still out on that for most of D-Agency,” said Miyoshi.  “But I’ll say for you that you may have swayed them on that issue.  Nevertheless, we were looking for someone from outside the Metro with no connections to it.  Someone we knew was untouched by the local corruption, and whose service records from wherever they came from showed that they didn’t just do their work to get their paycheck but to make an actual difference.  In addition to that, it needed to be someone who we wouldn’t look like fools for being deceived by.  Which meant no active social media accounts for at least five years, and someone who didn’t get tagged in all their friends’ photos, or like to subtly brag about their own humbleness, racking up neighborhood appreciation awards and the like.  You met all our requirements.  You even spoke Japanese, which you know we prefer in our employees.  When Jitsui passed along everything he dug up on you, I almost thought you were too perfect.”

            “But what do you want from me?” Sakuma asked again.  “Give me a straight answer, Miyoshi.  I’m not in the mood for you beating around the bush anymore.”

            “Alright.  Simply put, I want your help,” said Miyoshi.

            “Help with what?”

            “As I said,” Miyoshi told him, “Oikawa was not the only one the Metro has been giving a pass to.  There are many, many others.”

            “You want me to find them out for you?” Sakuma asked.

            “No.  We know about them already.  They suck at covering their tracks.  Or Jitsui’s just too good at uncovering them.  Whichever the reason, we’re well aware of who they are.  No.  We want your help in exposing them,” said Miyoshi.

            “But why?  If you were a fellow cop, I’d understand you wanting to expose corruption, but you’re career criminals yourselves?  So . . . it’s because some of them are posing a threat to your businesses, isn’t it?” Sakuma deducted.  “You want me to help cut back on your competition.”

            “More like we want you to expose and discredit the ones who are funding our competition,” said Miyoshi.  “Don’t misunderstand.  We can deal with our competition.  We wouldn’t have survived this long if we couldn’t.  And we can deal with any individual or group who becomes a problem.  But that definition of “dealing with” them is one you would not so much approve of.  We’re not pretending we’re on the side of justice, after all.  We’re not that hypocritical.  The reason we accepted you was to test out an experiment.  I theorized that our problems could be dealt with more efficiently, more humanely, and more permanently if we had someone like you working with the system to deal with the hypocrites who are in government offices, and in the Metro, and who claim to be waging a war on crime and corruption, all the while paying off people even worse than us to cut away at our interests, or accepting payment from people even worse than them, to look the other way.”

            Sakuma went to take another drink, only to find that his mug was empty.  Only the two mostly melted ice cubes remained.  He reached across the table and helped himself to the bottle, and added another inch to his mug.

            “I will ask you to consider this carefully,” said Miyoshi.  “Please take as long as you need to.  I hope you’ll agree to help us.  If you do, I know it won’t be because you want to help us, but because you think this is the right thing to do, so I won’t try to persuade you with arguments about justice and morality.  I won’t even try to bribe you into coming to our side.  Which, I hope, you’ll take as the compliment to your character that I intend for it to be.  And if you decide against helping us, I’m prepared to offer you a number of options for leaving, which will keep your reputation as an upstanding officer, and your career prospects intact.  D-Agency will take no action against you.  You have my word on that.  The choice is completely yours to make.”

            Sakuma stared down into his mug.  This . . . this was hardly what he had been expecting.  And it was too big a decision for him to be making on the spur of the moment, especially when he was at least half drunk, and aching with grief for his best friend, who had died only a few hours ago. 

            For half a wild second, he had thought to himself, ‘I wonder what Alain’s going to say when I tell him about this?’  And then he remembered.  Alain was dead.  And it was the Metro’s fault.  They hadn’t just turned a blind eye to a sexual predator and serial killer, they’d deliberately kept him out of jail and enabled him.  And there were more people like this out there, getting written passes by the Metro, or officials in Vegas’s government?

            “If you’d like, I can leave you to your thoughts, Detective,” said Miyoshi.  “Though if you would prefer that I stay, I’ll do so gladly.  I don’t know if you’re the sort who likes to grieve in private, or if it helps you to have someone nearby –”

            “Stay,” Sakuma said before he could help himself.  He coughed, then added, “Please.”

            Miyoshi nodded.  “Alright then.  I’ll stay.”

            “I’ll do it.”

            “Pardon?”

            “What you’re asking,” Sakuma said.  “I’ll help you expose the corruption in the Metro, and in this city’s government.”

            Miyoshi actually looked concerned.  “Are you certain, Sakuma-san?  It’s not that I’m not pleased with your decision, but you’re hardly in a state to be making important decisions –”

            “They killed my friend, Miyoshi,” said Sakuma.  “And all those boys that Oikawa murdered, they killed them too, by letting him off.  And who knows how many other people?  If I walk away from this, I don’t stay outside the cycle.  I become part of it, because I’ll be letting them off.  And I’m not going to do that.  That’s not who I am.  And . . . besides . . . I made Alain a promise.  I told him I’d watch out for Shimano.  And so I will.”

            Sakuma drained his mug of whiskey, then turned it upside down, so that Miyoshi wouldn’t refill it.  And to help himself resist the temptation of refilling it too.  He’d had enough.  Too much, really.  But he knew he would still stand by the decision he’d just made come tomorrow. 

            “So,” he said, meeting Miyoshi’s gaze, and trying to focus on his new mission, rather than how bright Miyoshi’s eyes were.  “Where do we start?” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: And so ends the first arc of this fic.  Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you enjoyed it. 

 

            First, I have a very important announcement.   Jimmi has drawn for me, and for you, the scene of Hatano and Jitsui in Hatano’s shower, when they’re sitting there so adorably miserable, with their clothes on, getting soaked, as Jitsui tries to comfort Hatano, who is just so exhausted and heartbroken from the night’s events.  The picture Jimmi drew is just so hauntingly beautiful and captures that scene so well.  Please check it out at: <http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/post/148523459909/a-request-by-screamingsongbird16-for-the-final>

 

 

            Second, I’ve put a lot of thought on how I plan to proceed from here.  I mentioned in some earlier notes that each of our boys is going to have his own arc.  That still stands.  And all the arcs will be written and posted in chronological order.  But between each arc, I’ll probably be taking breaks while I get my thoughts in order and get everything planned for the next arc.  But so you won’t have to go weeks without any new content, I’ve decided to post other things written in the Casino AU between the arcs.  Things like origin stories, side stories, missing moments, etc . . .  Those chapters aren’t going to be in chronological order, like the main story is, but each one will be clearly labeled, and dated so you’ll know when it takes place.  That’s the best compromise I can think of for how to tell all the little stories about our boys that I have in my head, in this AU, making things easy to find, but also tell the overall story, keeping it in chronological order. 

 

            Also, you’ll probably be happy to know that most arcs won’t be as brutal as this one.  I wanted to start with a bang, and I needed something heavy to convince Sakuma to take D-Agency’s side, against his fellow police officers.  Otherwise, being the kind of man he is, Sakuma would have never even considered it.  Seeing what his fellow officers are turning their gazes from, and the horrible things that have happened because of that makes Sakuma realize where he stands far more efficiently than anything else would.  Don’t get me wrong, in the future there will be more feels, and a brutal arc is bound to come around again sooner or later.  But this whole fic isn’t going to be one brutal arc after another.  We’ll have some chill, fun arcs too, and you’ll get to see Sakuma starting to fit in with D-Agency more, when there’s not so much on the line.  Until something happens that jolts him back to reality, and he remembers that he and these men he’s becoming friends with are still on opposite sides of the law . . . which doesn’t stop him from wanting Miyoshi at all.  :P

 

            Anywayz . . . I am mentally exhausted after making it this far, lol.  I think I’m going to go sleep for half a week now.  Thank you again for reading, and please don’t forget to check out Jimmi’s wonderful fanart! 

 

*drops mic and flops into bed*


	12. Fan Art Index

I never expected to get so much wonderful fanart for this fic.  But several very talented artists have been so kind as to illustrate scenes and concepts based off my Casino AU.  The links to all these pieces are scattered throughout the different chapters, in my end notes, but to aid anyone who wants to find them again, I’ve made this index to put them all in one place.  If you haven’t already, please check them out. :)

 

* * *

 

 

Hatano’s Arc

 

**Death by Pomeranian** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148785435161>

A drawing inspired by the omake of _Hatano’s Arc: Part 1_.  Could these be the faces that Hatano and this random Pomeranian make when they discover the results of that DNA test?  Fukumoto doesn’t look worried.  Perhaps because Jitsui is clearly so happy about this?

 

 

**Miyoshi’s Jealousy** by Aoi_Kitsukawa 

[http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=58061557 ](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=58061557)

A fan comic based on the conversation between Miyoshi and Jitsui in _Hatano’s Arc: Part 2._   Essentially what would have happened if Jitsui decided to totally troll Miyoshi, by telling him actual facts about Sakuma’s relationship with Alain, but telling them without the context, and making Miyoshi really jealous. 

 

**Dangerous Career Criminals** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148531739791>

From _Hatano’s Arc: Part 3_.  A depiction of the scene where Tazaki gives Hatano his extremely large, fluffy rabbit to hold, to comfort the boy after he had a scare.  Here Hatano and Jitsui are the very image of dangerous career criminals, barely managing to contain their attack bunny’s ferocity. 

 

 

**Shopping for T-Shirts** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/147987195611>

An illustration of one of the final scenes in _Interlude: Alain Lernier_.  Remember that scene where Alain and Sakuma were finally throwing in the towel, and suspending their search for Shimano Ryousuke, only hours before their flights home, and chugging iced coffee because the exhaustion and Vegas heat were finally too much . . . and then in walked four young men in suits, shopping for t-shirts for some unspecified young boy they’d just taken in?  Well this is that scene.  And these are those shirts.

 

 

**Cherry Thief** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148834319696>

The scene from _Hatano’s Arc: Part 5_ , where Hatano steals all the cherries. :P  Here Tivanny illustrates Hatano the way that the rest of D-Agency loves seeing him best; no longer the scared, fractured boy they took in, but a bright young man, whose cheekiness may know no bounds, but only because they healed him, and helped him become the confident, snarky little bruiser he was always meant to be. 

 

 

**Everything Hurts** by Jimmi

<http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/image/148523459909>

That heartbreaking scene in _Hatano’s Arc: Conclusion,_ when Hatano returns home to D-Agency and sinks to the floor of his shower, still fully clothed, sobbing over every horrible thing that happened that night.  Then Jitsui arrives, and joins him, and sits down beside him to comfort him, not caring how soaked he gets, because all that matters to him is that Hatano’s okay. 

 

 

**Feeling Better** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148584633701>

A post-Hatano’s Arc pic.  Someday, in the months that follow, Hatano recovers from every bad thing that happened to and around him that night.  It’s hard, and it takes time, but his family is there for him, to listen, and to support him, hold him when he needs to cry, hug him when he needs a hug, or just be there when he can’t stand to be alone.  So little by little, the pain, and fear, grief, and guilt go away.  Until one day Hatano realizes it’s alright to smile again.

 

 

**Cuteness Overload** by Michie-chan

<http://michie-chan.tumblr.com/post/149217751673/what-happened-to-dont-die-dont-kill-from-the>

A mini fancomic from _Hatano’s Origin_.  kid!Hatano is so sweetly grateful and cute.  Jitsui couldn’t have stopped himself from melting over him if he tried.

 

 

**The Care and Keeping of kid!Hatano** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/150074013076>

A drawing from _Hatano’s Origin_ , showing many of the little ways Jitsui cared for kid!Hatano.  He clothed him.  Fed him.  Obsessively ordered milk for him to drink.  Gave him books, and toys (that giant hammerhead plushy!), and a new home.  He made Hatano his family.  If he could have kept him from ever being scared or feeling pain ever again, he would have.  In this picture you can tell at just a glance how much Jitsui cares about his kid already.

* * *

Tazaki’s Arc

 

**Reading Glasses For The Win** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/151190314036>

From _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 1._ When Tazaki was down on Sublevel D, reading through the information Johann provided him about the painting they were planning to steal.  He’s a bit self conscious about his need for reading glasses, so to see him with them on outside of Sublevel D is a very rare sight.  Which is a shame because he looks damn good in them. :P

 

**Crossdressing For The Cause** by theholyme

<http://theholyme.tumblr.com/image/151336839990>

From Tazaki’s Arc.  Where Jitsui ends up crossdressing for the cause.  Repeatedly.  Because every magician knows that the best way to distract your audience is with a beautiful woman.  And D-Agency is a little short on those in their inner circle.  But beautiful men who can pass as beautiful women?  They do have those.  And in this sparkly, shimmery dress, all eyes are going to be on Jitsui. 

 

**Sleepy and Sweet** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/151554828211>

From _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 2._ The scene where they’ve all gotten up much earlier than they normally would, so that they can listen to Tazaki’s plan for his upcoming art heist.  Where Hatano is curled up beside Jitsui on one of the love seats, resting his head in Jitsui’s lap.  You can see it in Jitsui’s eyes here, just how much he cares.  And there’s going to be a story behind that mug Jitsui’s holding. :P

 

**Wet** by Aoi_Kitsukawa

<http://marrylissa.tumblr.com/image/151886101497>

A visual guide to trolling Sakuma and Miyoshi.  By Jitsui.  (Or in other words, that scene from _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 5,_ where Jitsui hijacks the sprinkler system and uses it to soak Sakuma and Miyoshi.)  Here Miyoshi’s torn between being as angry as a wet cat, and entranced by Sakuma’s wet shirt going transparent and clinging to his abs.  And Sakuma is torn between being amused by Miyoshi’s reactions, and exasperated at being caught up in D-Agency’s off books shenanigans yet again.

 

**A Certain Sunflower Painting** by Meridian Blue

<http://meridianblue.tumblr.com/post/151966535861/a-quick-sculpt-of-tazaki-inspired-by-this-i-made>

Here Tazaki takes the stage, just like in _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 8,_ to give his audience the show of a lifetime.  Time and space may get altered.  A certain sunflower painting may get stolen.  But the Metro will never prove it, lol.  (Please note the miniature sunflower boutineer.  Yuuki pinned that on him.  So be proud, Tazaki!  Be proud.)

 

**Sweet Treats** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/152334872681>

What’s cuter than Hatano feeding Usa-chan a strawberry?  Hatano feeding Usa-chan a strawberry, while Jitsui feeds him a strawberry. :)  Hatano is determined to take good care of Usa-chan while Tazaki is away.  And Jitsui is determined to take good care of Hatano forever, lol.  Words do not do the sheer adorableness of this picture justice.

**Box** by Aoi_Kitsukawa

<http://marrylissa.tumblr.com/post/152339701502/day-26-box-once-again-this-scene-is-taken>

An Inktober sketch of the scene from _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 4_ , where Tazaki discovers that Usa-chan has manipulated Yuuki-san into giving her a nice box and feeding her strawberries.  Please note the scheming, evil aura that manifests itself around this crafty little bunny in the form of seemingly innocent sparkles.  And that tiny puff of air that Tazaki is sighing out, as he realizes that not even Yuuki-san suspects the depths of his rabbit’s depravities.

 

**A Certain Chubby Bunny** by Meridian Blue

<http://meridianblue.tumblr.com/image/152713730741>

Usa-chan and her strawberry, in 3D!  A small sculpture inspired by _Tazaki’s Arc: Part 4_ , which pays homage to the green screen set that the D-boys built, and which Usa-chan broke into repeatedly, until Yuuki-san paid her some attention.  Perhaps after the show was over, and while Tazaki was away, the others filmed Usa-chan on the set and green screened in some dancing strawberries around her while she ate.  To send to Tazaki.  Because they know how much he misses his best girl when he’s away.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

General

 

**The Astonishing Tazaki (and Usa-chan)** by Tivanny

<http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148204560221>

Every magician needs a rabbit to pull out his hat, right?  Well here’s Tazaki’s.  Usa-chan is the biggest, fluffiest bunny you’ve ever seen.  She got so big because Tazaki can’t resist spoiling his best girl.  All she has to do is look at him with those big, scheming red eyes of hers and Tazaki just melts.  No one knows how he’s able to summon her from anywhere in the casino, at any time.  She’s clearly too big to be concealed on his person.  Is she proof that Tazaki has real magic?

 

 

* * *

 

 

This index will be updated every time there is a new picture to add to it. :)

And in case anyone’s worried that I might be breaking Ao3’s rules with this index, and that someone else might report me, don’t worry.  I wrote to Ao3’s support staff to double check and make sure this was allowed, and got the all clear from them.  So, no violations here. :)


	13. Hatano's Origin

Pre-series.  Set three years before the first chapter of the Casino AU.  Featuring kid!Hatano

 

 

* * *

 

            Jitsui had never been in a situation where he knew with one hundred percent certainty that he was going to die before.  But now that he found himself in one, he knew it was irrefutable.  He had an inappropriate urge to laugh, because he could see all the possible outcomes, spreading out before him, and he died in every single one.

            It all came down to his gun being jammed, while the man in front of him held a fully functioning, fully automatic assault rifle.

            He had no time to fix it.  Nowhere to hide.  The most useful thing he could do with his piece now was to throw it, but that wouldn’t prevent his inevitable death. 

            His adversary was holding up his rifle and aiming, preparing for the kill.  Jitsui, dug one foot in, waiting for the flash in the man’s eyes that said he was going for the kill.  If his timing was perfect, he could buy himself a few seconds.  Moving targets were harder to hit.  If he dodged, it would take time for him to recorrect his aim.  Maybe something would happen in those few seconds.  Probably not.  But Jitsui was never one to go down without a fight.

            The man’s eyes flashed.  Jitsui broke into a sprint.  The gun went off.  Once.

            Once?  What? But it was fully automatic . . .

            Jitsui twisted, changing his momentum, and direction.  It was a tactical move, meant to let him see the man who’d been shooting at him, and change up his running pattern so it would take him longer to correct his aim.  But when he saw the man he realized that he wouldn’t be shooting anyone.

            The man’s assault rifle clattered to the ground as Jitsui watched with widening eyes.  Behind the man, through the gap between the folds of a tarp that had been covering what Jitsui assumed was a large cargo box, two hands had reached through, and grabbed the man.  His head was rammed backward, and the unmistakable sound of a skull impacting against metal rang out.  Over and over again.  Then one of the hands reached around the man’s throat and squeezed the man’s windpipe, crushing it.

            Jitsui wasted no time retrieving the fallen assault rifle and hefting it, preparing to fire if his unexpected, unseen ally needed help.  But its original owner was as good as dead by the time he’d laid hands on it.  The person who killed him knew it too.  They released their target and let him fall to the floor, gasping and convulsing, no longer able to breathe.

            “You in there.  Come out,” Jitsui ordered whoever had killed the man.  He didn’t know if they were a foe, but he couldn’t be sure they were a friend either.

            “Fuck off,” came the reply.  Jitsui frowned.  The voice that had replied sounded astonishingly young. 

            “I’m not joking around.  Come out now, or I’ll shoot.”

            This time he got no reply. 

            So cautiously, Jitsui made his way forward.  Despite his threat, he didn’t want to shoot blindly.  Whoever this person was, they had just saved his life.  And he had heard that metal, ringing against the dying man’s skull.  The last thing Jitsui wanted was to shoot himself with a ricocheting bullet. 

            As he got closer, Jitsui realized something.  The metal he’d heard were metal bars.  The thing he’d thought was a cargo box was a cage.  And whoever had saved him was inside of it.  Jitsui grabbed a handful of the material covering the cage and dragged it off, revealing his savior.

            A child.  The one who had just saved his life was a dirty, emaciated child, locked up in a cage, and covered in scars.  Or maybe some of those marks were just grime.  It was hard to tell, he was so filthy.  But some of them, probably most of them, were definitely scars.  He was barefoot and shirtless.  The pants he wore were cut off just below the knees, and fraying horribly. 

            The boy stood perfectly still, studying Jitsui through half-lidded eyes, his expression completely unreadable.  It didn’t change when Jitsui raised his rifle.  At least not until Jitsui actually pulled the trigger.  Then he flew sideways so fast he was a blur, dodging.  But then he froze, as he realized he hadn’t been the target of Jitsui’s shot. 

            Jitsui pulled the ruined lock off the cage door and threw it onto the floor, then swung the door wide open.  “Come on.”

            The boy stared at him warily.

            “You want out of there, right?” asked Jitsui.  Then something occurred to him.  The boy looked Asian.  Or maybe just half Asian.  The Ring “recruited” fighters from all over Asia, Europe, America, and Central and South America.  “Do you speak English?”  Yes, the boy had told him to fuck off in English, but that could have just been because he recognized he was being spoken to in English, and that was one of the few English phrases he knew.

            The boy only stared.

            “Nihongo?  Zhongwen?  Hangug-eo?”

            The boy didn’t answer, but it seemed like some of his hostility was melting away.  Albeit very slowly. 

            “Espanol?  Russkiy?  Francais?”

            “Are you going to kill me?” the boy asked in English.

            Jitsui had been holding the rifle at the ready.  Not aimed on the boy, but in a position where he could have aimed at a moment’s notice.  He lowered it slightly, as he realized that was making the boy wary, and shook his head.  “No.”

            The boy tilted his head to one side, like he was considering Jitsui.  Jitsui had the feeling he was being sized up as a fighter.  Most people would rate Jitsui’s fighting abilities low, just from looking at him.  But this boy only looked even more on alert after he finished his analysis, and Jitsui had the suspicion that he’d been rated somewhere around the level of being a worthy adversary.

            “Do you want to come out?” asked Jitsui.  He backed away from the cage door.  That seemed to do the trick.  The boy started moving forward hesitantly, never more than one step forward for each one Jitsui took away.  He reached the cage entrance.  And then he bolted.

            “Wait!” Jitsui called.

            The boy was already halfway across the room by then.  But Jitsui was no slouch, just because he was a hacker.  He started running after him.

            The door opened before the boy reached it. Fukumoto hurried in, followed by Kaminaga.

            Jitsui didn’t really see what happened, but the next thing he knew, Fukumoto was on the floor with the little brat on top of him, twisting his arm up as his handgun slid away.  And Kaminaga had drawn a gun and taken aim.

            “Wait!” Jitsui screamed.  And he fired without thinking.

            His bullet hit Kaminaga’s gun, blasting it right out of his hands.

            “Ah!  Dammit, Jitsui!” Kaminaga shouted.

            The boy had leapt off Fukumoto but had changed his mind about going out the door.  Odagiri and Miyoshi had just entered, and there were now clearly too many people between him and it for him to get out that way.  He backed up, scanning the room for another path, but none presented itself.

            “Wait!” Jitsui shouted again.  “Don’t hurt him!”

            “I wasn’t going to!  I don’t kill kids,” Kaminaga growled.  “But what the fuck?  Who is he?”

            “From the looks of it, Ring merchandise,” said Miyoshi, looking at the cage in the back of the room with distaste. 

            “Orders?” Fukumoto asked, giving the boy an unreadable look.

            “Get out of his way and let him go,” Miyoshi said.  “He’s not our problem.”

            The kid had been retreating all during that short conversation.  And Jitsui felt a pang in his chest as he realized that the boy had retreated back toward him, but wasn’t hiding behind him.  He was between Jitsui and the other D-Agency members, but not quite like he intended to protect him.  He was off a little to the side.  Like he thought he and Jitsui might be teaming up against these giant newcomers.  At Miyoshi’s words, he glanced sideways at Jitsui, but why Jitsui didn’t know. 

            “Wait,” Jitsui said quickly, before the boy could bolt.  He couldn’t tell if that’s what he was planning.  But he didn’t want that to happen.  “Wait.  Please.”

            He put his gun down, and showed the kid his empty hands.  Then he stepped forward slowly.  Like they were playing a game almost, the kid stepped back.

            “I’m not going to hurt you.  You should know that by now,” Jitsui said gently.  “If I was going to hurt you, I could have done so already.”

            This time when Jitsui took another step forward, the kid stayed put.  He looked like he really wanted to retreat, but instead he held his ground.

            “Jitsui?  What are you doing?” asked Kaminaga.

            “He saved my life,” said Jitsui.  “I owe him something for that.”  
            “Then toss him a couple Franklins and be done with it.”

            “I owe him a little more than that,” said Jitsui.  He would have liked to use one of his soft, scary voices, but he didn’t want to spook the kid.  “Would you guys mind leaving, and letting me talk to him alone?”

            “Odagiri, wait outside the door.  The rest of you, with me,” said Miyoshi.  He motioned them toward the exit.  Then he hesitated just a moment.  The look he gave Jitsui was hard to read.  “Tread lightly, Jitsui.”

            “Don’t worry,” said Jitsui.  “He’s not going to hurt me.”

            The boy’s heavy lidded eyes took on an almost cruelly amused look.  But he didn’t refute what Jitsui said.  And once the others had left the room, he actually deigned to speak.

            “What do you want?”

            “I don’t really know myself,” admitted Jitsui.  “What do you want?”

            The boy shrugged.

            “Do you want to go home?” Jitsui asked.  “I can get you there.”

            The boy shrunk in on himself.  Which meant home was not an option.  Which could mean any number of things, but Jitsui knew now was not the time to focus on that.

            “Home’s off the table, then.  What about a safe place to stay the night, and a meal?”

            The boy’s stomach growled at the mention of food.  But the boy himself remained wary.  It took a little more sweet talking, the bag of gummy rings in his suit pocket, assurances that Jitsui wasn’t in any way connected to the police, and one other thing before the boy finally consented to go with him.

            “I want to take a shower,” the boy said, shrinking back from Jitsui, and suddenly looking self conscious.  So, he knew how filthy he was.

            “We’ll go somewhere you can take a shower,” Jitsui promised, and held out his hand.  The kid didn’t take it.  But he did follow Jitsui to the door, then all the way to the building’s exit.  The others were already there, waiting at the two black SUVs that D-Agency had arrived in.  Jitsui, Odagiri, and Jitsui’s guests were the last to arrive.

            Some eyebrows were raised at the arrival of the kid, but no one spoke a word against it.  Not even Kaminaga, who was still very clearly annoyed at the scratch on his gun, and the numbness of his hand.  He did roll his eyes a bit, but he made up for it by digging an energy bar out of his kit and tossing it to the boy, before he started the car.

            “Does he have a name?” asked Miyoshi, looking at Jitsui and his guest through the rearview mirror.

            But the boy wasn’t paying attention.  The moment they’d stepped outside, his eyes had widened and his mouth had dropped open.  The sight of the sky seemed to hold great wonder for him, even though they were too close to the city to see many stars.  He’d only taken time out from gawking to gobble down the energy bar Kaminaga gave him.  But as soon as that was gone, it was right back to staring at the sights, like a tourist. 

            Jitsui caught Miyoshi’s eye and shrugged apologetically.  Then he got on his phone and connected to the D-Agency Hotel and Casino webpage.  He used his employee access to book a room, then downloaded a key to the room onto his phone.  Then he texted Tazaki, who was still at the casino and asked for a favor.  For him to bring some of Jitsui’s clothes to that room.  Then he did some mental calculations for how long it would take them to get back to the casino, and then put in an order for room service to send some food up to the room, and have it delivered fifteen minutes after the time Jitsui expected them to arrive.

            Before long, they reached the Strip.  And for the first time since getting into the car, the silence was broken, by their guest gasping, and then crowding closer to his window, both hands pressed against the glass.  The palatial casinos and castle-like resorts were lit up in all their glory, just as they were every night.  They were sights that the current members of D-Agency had all long grown used to.  But Jitsui could remember back when he first arrived in the city, how they’d looked when they still had their magic.

            “Where on earth are we?” the boy asked finally, his voice filled with wonder.  “What is this place?”

            “You don’t know?” asked Miyoshi.

            “I’m not asking just to hear myself talk.”

            Rather than take offense at his cheek, Miyoshi was, thankfully, amused.  “Well.  Welcome to Las Vegas.”

            “America?”

            “Yes.  I take it you’re not from around here?”

            The boy didn’t answer.  His eyelids drooped down a little.  Then he went back to staring out the window.  Shortly after that, they arrived back at D-Agency.  Kaminaga pulled into the parking garage, then took a private service tunnel to get them to the back entrance D-Agency used when they didn’t want to be seen.

            “Here.  Put this on,” Jitsui told his guest, handing over his suit jacket.  He was going to stand out, no matter what they did, but he thought it would be best to try to minimalize it where he could.

            “I’ll ruin it.  I’m filthy.”

            “It doesn’t matter.  Please put it on.”

            After a brief hesitation the boy obeyed. 

            “I assume you want to sort this out on your own, Jitsui?” asked Miyoshi.

            “I think that would be best,” Jitsui said.

            “I will have to inform Father of this,” Miyoshi said, not as a warning so much as a heads up. 

            “Good thing it’s not a secret then,” said Jitsui, unconcerned, as he guided his guest inside.

            He got the kid up to the room without anything worse than a few staff members giving them weird glances, then quickly looking away and minding their own business when they recognized Jitsui.

            “This is where you’ll be staying tonight,” Jitsui said, as the door closed behind them.  “For however long you feel like staying here, in fact.”

            The boy looked around wide eyed at the spacious room, and its king sized bed, and its view of all the city lights.  “What is this place?  And who are you people?”

            “This is D-Agency,” said Jitsui.  “A casino.  And a hotel.  We live and work here.”

            That wasn’t exactly the answer the boy had been looking for.  It didn’t tell him anything about who they really were.  And the look the boy gave him clearly said he hadn’t missed that fact.  But he didn’t press.  Instead he turned to what was clearly a more pressing matter for him.

            “There’s a shower here?”

            Jitsui smiled.  “This way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The bathroom was huge.  Shimano hadn’t known they’d made bathrooms that big.  The tub was almost big enough to swim in, and Shimano was almost tempted to try it out.  But no, the shower was what he really wanted.  It was in its own area, walled off by glass.  And it was more complicated than he’d expected, with a bunch of buttons and dials.  But he managed to get it working in short order, and quickly figured out how to turn the water up as hot as it would go.  The water crashed down over him, scorching the grime off his skin, and he felt like he was in heaven.

            He just stood there for several minutes, letting it pour down on top of him.  The pressure was high, so the water came down hard enough to sting, and the temperature was so hot that it burned, but he loved it.  He hadn’t felt anything so wonderful since . . . since before his life had turned into a living hell.

            There were little bottles and boxes on a built in shelf.  After a few minutes of just letting himself get well and truly soaked by the scalding water, Shimano grew interested enough to inspect them.  He could read English decently well, but not all the words were familiar to him.  Shower gel, lotion, conditioner, shampoo . . . those weren’t in his vocabulary.  Neither was shower cap.  But the last box was marked with a familiar word.  Soap.  Shimano hastily ripped it open and cupped his prize with both hands.  It smelled so amazing, so fresh and clean.  He pressed the tiny bar to his face and inhaled. Then he started coughing as he breathed in the bubbles.  And then he started laughing, because even though it was painful, it was still just wonderful. 

            It was only then that he really started to wash, instead of just standing in the running water.  He scrubbed the bar of soap through his hair and against his scalp, over his face (avoiding his nose this time), down his arms and legs, shoulders, and torso.  The bar was almost gone by the time he finished his feet.  But the water, which had been a murky reddish-brown in color as it drained away when he first got into the shower, was now crystal clear.  He used the rest of the bar on his nails, clawing at it to get it under his nail beds, then washing it out, along with the dark crescents of grime that had been beneath his nails.  He had just enough soap to finish off all his nails.  Then the soap was gone, but for the first time in years, Shimano felt clean.

            He finally dragged himself out of the shower, with some regret.  He would have loved to stay in longer, but Jitsui was waiting, and might get mad.  Maybe there were rules about how long he was allowed to stay in the water or how much hot water he was allowed to use.  Hopefully he wouldn’t be in trouble for using all the soap. 

            His old pants were on the floor, but the idea of putting them back on now that he was finally, finally clean just seemed disgusting.  So Shimano just wrapped a towel around his waist and tucked it in securely.  Hopefully Jitsui wouldn’t care.

            Honestly, Shimano didn’t know what the hell to make of Jitsui.  He was weird.  Not necessarily in a bad way.  He looked like a kid, only a few years older than Shimano, but he acted like an adult.  He was clearly dangerous.  His every move showed how dangerous.  And his friends moved like they were just as dangerous.  But he acted like . . . like the people Shimano used to know before his parents were killed.  Back when he still believed the world was full of good people.  If he’d met Jitsui back then, he probably would have thought Jitsui was so cool.  He would have been eating out of the palm of his hand.  But the person Shimano had become knew better than to be that naïve. 

            But it was hard to keep his guard up.  Especially when he walked out of the bathroom and found Jitsui sitting at the glossy wooden table by the window, with a feast spread out in front of him, waiting for Shimano.  Shimano’s eyes widened at the sight.  There was a tray of little sandwiches held together with toothpicks, with olives on top of them, a plate of cut fruits, another of vegetables with a creamy dip in the center, and crowning the ensemble, in the center, a plate containing a variety of cookies.  Shimano recognized chocolate chip, double chocolate, snickerdoodles, and oatmeal raisin.  But there were others he didn’t know.  Some that were brightly frosted.  Others that were covered with white powdered sugar. 

            “There are some clothes for you on the chair,” said Jitsui, gesturing toward the other chair at the table.  “They’ll probably be a little big for you, but they’re the best we could do on short notice.”

            Shimano tore his eyes from the food and looked at the clothes.  The faster he put them on, the faster he could eat.  But the moment he picked them up, he realized something odd about them.

            “These are yours,” he said to Jitsui.

            Jitsui smiled slightly.  “How did you know?”

            “They smell like you.”

            Jitsui’s cologne was faint and subtle, but still crisp and clean.  Shimano liked it.  Not that he would admit that out loud.  He wouldn’t mind wearing clothes that smelled like this.  The shirt was rather big on him.  He didn’t need to unbutton it to put it on.  The pants wouldn’t have stayed up without the belt.  They barely stayed up even with the belt.  And he ignored the vest and tie as unnecessary, because he didn’t know how to tie a tie, and putting on the vest would delay him from the food.  He looked at Jitsui for permission, and when the older boy nodded, Shimano grabbed a sandwich with one hand, and a baby carrot, a piece of broccoli, and a slice of apple with the other, and tried to stuff all of them in his mouth at once.

            “Whoa, not too fast,” said Jitsui, sounding alarmed.  “You might choke or make yourself sick.”

            Shimano ignored this useless advice.  Only someone who’d never been starved would –

            Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.  Something was lodged in his throat. 

            “Hey?  Kid?  Are you alright?”

            Shimano clawed at his throat and tried to cough.  He was not alright.  He couldn’t breathe.  But that was no skin off Jitsui’s nose.  Jitsui just needed to shut up and let him sort himself out and –

            Suddenly Jitsui was behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, squeezing tight.  And suddenly Shimano could breathe again.  The olive that had gotten caught in his throat was dislodged.  He spit it out frantically, and then his legs gave out from under him.  Jitsui hadn’t been expecting to have to hold up his whole weight, and fell to the floor with him.

            “Hey?  Hey!  Are you alright?”

            “Yes,” rasped Shimano, feeling dazed.  “Thank . . . you.  Sorry.”

            There was a hand in his hair, stroking it gently.  It felt . . . nice.

            “It’s alright,” Jitsui said.  “As long as you’re alright.  Just breathe.”

            This . . . this was suddenly just too much.  Food, a shower, clean clothes, a huge world outside of his cage, full of castles and bright lights . . . and now this.  Someone holding him like his mama used to, speaking soothing words, and stroking his hair.  Tears sprang into Shimano’s eyes.  The next thing he knew he was choking again, but this time only because he was trying to hold back sobs.

            “Kid?  What’s wrong?  Can you breathe alright?  Are you still choking?  Hey?” Jitsui sounded so worried.

            “Shim-m-mano,” he managed to get out.  “R-Ryousuk-ke.”

            “What?”

            “My n-n-n-name,” Shimano cried, bowing his head and curling in on himself, trying to hide how badly he was breaking.  “Sh-Shim-mano R-Ryousuke.”

            “Shimano Ryousuke,” Jitsui repeated. 

            Shimano couldn’t explain why it was suddenly so important to him for Jitsui to know that.  It had been years since he’d used his name, or heard it spoken.  There were times he’d almost forgotten it, and times he wished he could forget it and everything else, and just stop existing.  But now it felt like he was back.  Like he’d gotten himself back.  And he wanted Jitsui to be the first one to know.

            “Nice to meet you, Shimano Ryousuke,” said Jitsui.  “I’m Jitsui.  Let’s get along well, okay?”

            “Mm,” Shimano said, hoping it sounded like agreement. 

            “You saved my life today, Shimano,” Jitsui said.  “So now I’m going to take good care of you from now on, okay?”

            “Mm,” Shimano repeated.  Even just an hour ago, he wouldn’t have believed anyone who said that.  But an hour ago, he’d still been in his cage.  Now he was free.  And someone really was taking care of him, and holding him like they would protect him from the whole world.

            He felt Jitsui rest his chin on top of his head.  “I’ll make it so that everything’s alright.  And no one will ever hurt you or put you in a cage again.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Shimano fell asleep in Jitsui’s arms, so Jitsui gently picked him up and moved him to the bed.  He covered up the food and put the things that needed to stay cold in the room’s minifridge.  But he left the plate of cookies out.  He even moved it over to the nightstand, because he knew Shimano hadn’t eaten enough to fill his belly.  He hadn’t actually eaten more than a mouthful.  And the kid was emaciated.  Jitsui knew that usually, you wouldn’t want to give kids sweets and junk food to feed them up, but in this case he thought an exception should be made.  Shimano needed any food he could get, and the more calories it had, the better.

            Jitsui went into the bathroom and collected Shimano’s old pants, then threw them in the trash.  They weren’t fit to be worn by humans, and he would make damn sure Shimano had better to wear from now on.  He checked the commodities while he was at it, and saw that only the soap had been opened.  Shimano must have used the whole bar, because no remainder of it was in sight.  Well, that was good.  He’d definitely needed the whole bar, but he’d cleaned himself up so well, you couldn’t tell what a sorry state he’d been in an hour ago.  He’d even scrubbed his feet and under his nails.  Jitsui hadn’t noticed any traces of dirt around them.  And his hair looked so much better now that it wasn’t matted with oil and who knew what else.

            He cleans up real nice, Jitsui thought, smiling in adoration as he keyed an order for housekeeping into his phone.  They would bring plenty more soap when they tidied the room tomorrow, as well as some other essentials Jitsui hadn’t thought about until now.  Like a toothbrush and toothpaste, and comb.  Then he keyed in a time in the afternoon for the room to be tended to.  He wanted to let Shimano sleep as long as he wanted to, and then he would take him out for breakfast, or lunch if it was late.  Then he would take him out to shop for some things.  Clothes and shoes were priority.  But there were probably other things he’d need that Jitsui hadn’t thought of yet. 

            “So?  How is he?” Kaminaga was waiting right outside the door for Jitsui when he exited.

            “Sleeping,” said Jitsui absently, still typing on his phone.  He needed to let Miyoshi know that he was taking some time off.  He knew it wouldn’t be a problem.  They had an entire team of people whose day jobs were the same as Jitsui’s.  Jitsui just did it better than them, but they could manage without him.  And that was only supposed to be Jitsui’s cover job, anyway.  Something to make it look like he had legit work on his tax forms.  His real job was digging up info on any potential enemies or allies, virtually dredging the internet for any secrets or weaknesses, anything they could exploit or use to get an edge over them, and hacking into their rivals’ computers and systems to extract sensitive information.  Sometimes playing the ghost in the machine, arranging for certain technological glitches and such to happen.  But right now they were between jobs, since they’d just crushed their latest target.  The Ring had been so stupid, trying to move their little human trafficking sideshow into Vegas. 

            “Were you able to get him to take a bath?” Kaminaga asked.

            “He wanted to take one,” said Jitsui.  “He brought it up on his own.”

            “Really?  I thought kids that age hated baths.”

            “What age is that?”

            “Er, I don’t know.  How old is he?”

            “I don’t know either.  Yet.”  That was another thing for Jitsui to do.  As soon as he finished typing in his notice to Miyoshi and CCing Yuuki that he was taking a few days away from his work in the control room, he brought up a web browser and typed in Shimano Ryousuke’s name.  “But he wanted a shower, all on his own.  That was the dealbreaking condition for him coming with me.  And he cleaned himself up well.  He stayed in the shower over half an hour and used a whole bar of soap.”

            “Well, that’s good.  No one likes a smelly kid.  And you got a meal into him?”

            “Not really.”

            “What does that mean?”

            Jitsui wished Kaminaga would shut up and go away.  His first search for a Shimano Ryousuke hadn’t brought up any matches.  Which meant that either Shimano had lied about his name, or he hadn’t been enslaved in America.  Jitsui chose to believe it was the latter.  The Ring was a small operation, but technically it could be considered an international one.  They moved from city to city in a country, then moved onto the next country, setting up gritty, no holds barred underground fighting events, with high stakes gambling on the fights.  Many of their fighters were volunteers, only stepping into the ring for a city or two, to make some quick cash.  Or more often, get beaten up and not getting any cash.  But about a quarter of their fighters weren’t there because they wanted to be.  Essentially, they were slaves, like most gladiators of old.  All they had to look forward to was their next fight, and they all knew how they would die.  Beaten to death in front of an audience.  D-Agency had intervened for two reasons.  One was that no one set up any big off books gambling events in Vegas without their say so.  The Ring thought that because they’d squared things off with the Metro that made it okay.  The idiots.  The second was because of their non-volunteer fighters.  Yuuki had laid down a law.  No human trafficking in his city.  And those fuckers had come in to flaunt it.

            “He started eating, then he started choking,” said Jitsui, answering Kaminaga’s question as he cast a wider net.  Shimano Ryousuke was a Japanese name.  Japanese search engines might turn up more.  Luckily he was able to use them on his phone.  “I used the Heimlich on him to get him to stop.  Then he fell down and just started crying.  I think it was too much for him.”

            “What was too much?” asked Kaminaga.  He sounded confused, but concerned.

            “Too much kindness.  I think it confused him and scared him.  Cruelty he could have dealt with better.  He’s clearly used to it.  But someone being nice to him, someone giving him a shower, and clean clothes, and food, he didn’t know how to deal with.  He’s still just a child.  Probably an emotionally stunted one at that.  Who knows how long he was with the Ring, or what he went through before that.”  There!  A match.  Jitsui clicked on the link to an article.  A disappointingly short article.  Just a mention of a family that met tragedy on a vacation in France.  The parents gunned down in an alley.  Their son, Shimano Ryousuke, missing, presumed dead.  Jitsui scowled.  He would have to switch to one of his computers for French search engines.  His phone didn’t have enough memory. 

            “Poor kid,” said Kaminaga.  Then he added, a little apprehensively, “You know I wasn’t going to shoot him back there, right?”

            Jitsui glanced at him sideways.

            “I wasn’t,” Kaminaga swore.  “I aim automatically.  But I don’t fire until I know what it is I’m aiming at.  And I don’t kill kids!”

            “I know.  But we’re in a public hallway right now.  Even if there’s no one but us in sight, you should probably shut up.”

            “Oh.  Right,” said Kaminaga.  “I just wanted to make sure you knew.  I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

            “I know.”

            They turned into a service hallway, then took the service elevator down to Sublevel D.  They split up there, Kaminaga probably going off to find Tazaki, and Jitsui going to his room.

            Jitsui’s room didn’t really look like the kind of place you’d expect someone to live in.  It was kind of a mess.  Tables wrapped around the length of the room, covered in computers, or computer parts, including different hardware bits, cables, and the tools he needed to crack tech open.  And he had piles of disks, flash drives, and external hard drives stacked in various places too.  No one going in there would have been able to find anything, but Jitsui knew exactly where everything was.  He went to where he had laptops stacked on his bedside table, and found the not often used one that he used only when he had to work with French or those little used languages in the British Isles.

            From there it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.  Shimano Ryousuke was thirteen now.  Parents deceased.  No other family.  He’d gone missing the night his parents had perished, shot down by two warring Corsican mafia groups.  One week later, he’d briefly resurfaced.  Images of him had been captured on film.  A snuff film.  One that had gone way off script, when the drugged, and allegedly helpless child they believed Shimano Ryousuke to be had shaken off the effects of the mild sedatives they’d given him, and gone on a rampage.  Apparently he was a martial arts prodigy.  But Jitsui didn’t need a newspaper to tell him that.  Shimano was believed to have been killed that night.  Interpol agents who raided the warehouse had reported seeing a trash bag wrapped body moved into the back of a van that escaped the raid.  Jistui was easily able to do the math.  The pedophile scum had wanted to be rid of Shimano, but hadn’t wanted to take a loss on him.  So they’d sold him to the Ring. 

            Five years, Jitsui realized, as he calculated the dates.  Shimano had survived fighting in the Ring for five years.  Most of their enslaved didn’t live through their first month. 

            Now Jitsui was struck with an irrational urge.  He wished that he could bring every man they’d killed that night back to life so he could kill them again.  Slowly.  Death by gunshots had not been nearly enough for them.  For them to take an eight year old child and pit him against full grown men, making him fight for his life . . . !

            Jitsui stopped himself from throwing his notebook, just in time.  That wouldn’t have done anyone any good.  He took a few breathes to calm himself down.  Then focused on what he needed to do next.

            He opened up his email, copied the relevant articles, and sent them to the rest of D-Agency, along with a simple message. 

            _I’m keeping him._

 

* * *

 

 

            It was dark when Shimano awoke.  Mostly.  Outside it was a really beautiful shade of dark blue.  There were a lot of lights on other buildings that he could see outside, but they seemed dimmer.  Probably because the sun was about to rise.

            As Shimano sat up, the bed dipped beneath him, as the springs adjusted to his shifting weight.  He looked around the room.  The same room he’d fallen asleep in last night.

            “It wasn’t a dream,” he muttered to himself in disbelief.  It had all really happened.  Finally getting to kill that fucker Geroux.  Getting freed by Jitsui.  Going back to this place with Jitsui.  Finally, finally, finally getting to wash off all the blood, sweat, and grime that had been stuck to his skin for so many years.  Finally getting clean.  Getting fed.  Breaking down, crying for the first time in a long time, while Jitsui held him, and rocked him back and forth.

            “Jitsui?” he called, wondering if the older boy was still here.  He looked around, but there was no one else in sight.  He did, however, find the plate of cookies from last night, right by his bed.  Jitsui must have left them for him, right?

            Shimano helped himself.  He was always hungry.  He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been.  But he knew better than to eat too fast this time.  There was no one here to save him this time if he choked.

            His eyes closed as he bit into his first cookie.  Double chocolate.  How long had it been since he’d had any chocolate?  A snickerdoodle was next.  He loved cinnamon so much.  Then oatmeal raisin.  Because oatmeal was healthy and raisins were healthy, right?  After his fourth one, a regular chocolate chip cookie (but who doesn’t love those?) he stopped himself.  He was aware that he’d just eaten more in three minutes than he usually ate in a day.  It was probably better if he didn’t overdo it.

            He crawled out of bed after that and prowled around the room.  He was allowed to leave, right?  He must be.  But where would he go?  He didn’t have anywhere to go.  Shimano didn’t know what to do. 

            He jumped as the door opened, then twisted, ready to fight.  But it was just Jitsui, coming in with a large white shopping bag with handles.

            “Oh, you’re awake,” said Jitsui, smiling softly at him.  “Good morning.”

            Hatano glanced over his shoulder at the sun that was rising over the city.  “Good morning.”

            “How are you feeling?” Jitsui asked. 

            “Good.”

            “You got yourself something to eat?” Jitsui looked at the cookies, and he had to see that there were less there than there had been last night.

            “Yes.  It was okay, right?”

            “Yep!” Jitsui grinned at him.  Then he walked over to the bed and set his shopping bag down on it.  “Come here a minute.  I’ve got some things for you.”

            Shimano approached cautiously.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jitsui.  He probably trusted Jitsui more than anyone in the world now.  But after years in the Ring it was his nature to be cautious of everyone.  Since most everyone he’d found himself face to face with for the last few years had been trying to beat him to death.

            “I think these will fit you better,” said Jitsui, pulling out a couple shirts, which he set on the bed for Shimano to see.  “Last night I just sent a message to one of my friends, asking him to bring some of my clothes up here, but I didn’t really specify why, so he just grabbed some of my usual wear.  These are from one of the stores in the casino.  They’re nothing special, but they won’t be as big on you, so you won’t look like you raided your big brother’s closet.  Here’s some shorts too.  And some sandals.  Sorry, I know they’re ugly.  We’ll get you some better things when we go out today.”

            “Out?”

            “Out on the town,” said Jitsui. 

            “I don’t have any money.”

            Jitsui waved his concerns away.  “I have plenty.”

            Shimano glanced down at the clothes on the bed uncertainly.

            “It’s alright, Shimano.  They’re yours,” Jitsui said. 

            “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

            “Hm?”

            Shimano repeated himself.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

            Understanding flickered on Jitsui’s face.  “You mean for the future?”

            Shimano nodded.

            Jitsui reached out to pat him on the head.  “I told you, didn’t I?  I’m going to take care of you now.  You saved my life, so it’s only fair, right?”

            Shimano looked at him bewildered.  He didn’t know.  Was that a fair trade?  No one had ever asked him to quantify what life was worth before.  If they had, he wouldn’t have considered it worth this much.

            Jitsui continued talking, but Shimano didn’t really hear what he was saying.  He was still processing how Jitsui wanted to take care of him now.  How Jitsui was going to take care of him.  He didn’t know what all that meant, or what Jitsui planned to do with him.  But he felt like it meant he didn’t have to worry. 

            “Does that sound alright, Shimano?” Jitsui asked.

            “Huh?  What?  I mean yes,” Shimano said, because he thought that was the answer Jitsui wanted, even though he didn’t have any idea what the question was.

            “Alright then.  Go on and change,” said Jitsui. 

            Shimano obeyed.  A bit regretfully.  He liked Jitsui’s clothes.  They were big, but they smelled nice.  But they belonged to Jitsui, who had brought him these other clothes to wear instead.  Shimano picked up a black t-shirt with a white rabbit and a bunch of white pigeons on it.  It seemed to be advertising something called the Astonishing Tazaki.  The shorts Jitsui had gotten him were a little big, so he needed to keep borrowing Jitsui’s belt.  And the sandals were a little big also, but not too big.  Shimano took a few practice steps in them, carefully, to make sure they weren’t going to trip him up.

            “It’s been forever since I wore shoes,” he explained to Jitsui, who watched him with a little confusion.

            “It’s alright.  You have plenty of time to get used to them again,” said Jitsui.  “So?  Shall we go get breakfast?”

 

* * *

 

 

            One of the perks of living in a casino was that something was always open.  Jitsui had tried to sleep last night.  But when he couldn’t, he had gotten up and decided to be productive.  Getting some things for Shimano, and making plans for a future that included his young charge.  He hadn’t heard back from any of his colleagues in D-Agency about the message he’d sent them.  Which meant that either they were asleep and hadn’t seen it yet, or they were fine with it, and didn’t see a reason to respond.  Jitsui didn’t foresee any problems from them, however.  He didn’t need their permission for anything.  He was a legal adult.  On paper.  Which was the only thing that really mattered.  He could legally adopt a kid if he wanted to.

            The souvenir shops had been able to supply enough things for Jitsui to throw together a couple outfits for Shimano.  When he wore Jitsui’s clothes, he looked like he was playing dress up or something.  They were much too big.  Now he looked like a tourist, but at least he looked like a tourist wearing the right sized clothes.  And now they were on their way to a 24 hour restaurant on the second floor.  A diner style restaurant, where you could get normal lunch and dinner favorites, but that also had an all day breakfast menu.  The food was good enough there that the members of D-Agency’s inner circle stopped by a couple times a week, either eating in or grabbing take out to bring back to Sublevel D.

            It was fun watching Shimano take in all the sights on the way there.  Last night, he hadn’t seen much of the casino, since they’d mostly used the service hallways, so none of the tourists would take note of him.  And the regular staff knew better than to talk about the things they saw D-Agency’s inner circle getting into.  But now with Shimano dressed normally, Jitsui was fine taking him through the main halls that the guests used.  He enjoyed watching Shimano’s eyes widen to the point of bulging when he saw things like fountains and chandeliers, and even just the big decadent hallways themselves, in their red carpeted glory. 

            “Just how big is this place?” Shimano wondered.

            “Pretty big,” Jitsui said.  “So you better stay close to me so you don’t get lost.”

            He meant that half jokingly, but Shimano took it at face value, and took another step closer to Jitsui, walking so close that their arms brushed against each other as they walked. 

            So cute, Jitsui thought, smiling.

            The restaurant had a couple private rooms for large groups.  But at this early hour, when the sun had barely even risen, large groups didn’t usually meet up.  And Jitsui was part of D-Agency’s inner circle.  The staff was happy to let Jitsui and his guest use one of those rooms, even though it was just the two of them.  Jitsui thought it was best to keep Shimano away from crowds for now.  He was still really jumpy, and Jitsui didn’t know what he would do if he was exposed to too many people too fast.

            “Order anything you like,” Jitsui said, pushing a menu to Shimano, but not bothering to look at one himself.  He’d long since memorized it. 

            Shimano started pouring over the menu, staring at each listing carefully and tracing it over with his fingers, making Jitsui realize something.

            “How well do you read English?”

            Shimano shrugged one shoulder.  “I was the best in my class.  But that was a long time ago.”

            “Would you like me to read the menu for you?”

            Shimano shook his head, and looked up at Jitsui, eyes shining.  “All I really want is rice.  Maybe with an egg on top of it?  Can I have that?”

            And then Jitsui wanted to kick himself.  He should have foreseen Shimano wanting something like that.  Jitsui was Japanese American himself, but not really in touch with his ancestors’ culture, so he hadn’t thought about it.  But Shimano was fully Japanese, and had probably grown up eating rice almost every day, back before his life had gone to hell.  Jitsui doubted he’d even seen a single grain of it during all his years in the Ring.  And he’d taken the kid to a Western style diner that specialized in pancakes, steak and eggs, and bacon.  White rice with egg wasn’t on the menu . . . but white rice could be ordered with gravy alongside chicken or steak, Jitsui remembered.  The kitchen could easily do a special order of it, without the gravy and with an egg.

            “Of course you can have that,” Jitsui said, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

            Breakfast was a fun affair.  Jitsui thought it went really well.  Especially considering it was his first attempt at acting parental.  He remembered to tuck a napkin in the front of Shimano’s shirt, so he wouldn’t make a mess of his clothes.  And he got Shimano to drink a full glass of milk.  He knew that was important for kids.  So were fruits and veggies, but he decided not to worry about those until lunch.  Shimano was enjoying his egg and rice so much, Jitsui didn’t want to do anything to risk ruining it.  Jitsui himself had eggs and toast.  And black coffee, to give him an energy boost for the day. 

            “He’s adorable,” commented Angie, the waitress who’d been serving them, as she watched Jitsui wipe Shimano’s face for him, as they were finishing up.  “Is he related to you, Jitsui?”

            “Mm, not quite yet.  But he will be soon,” said Jitsui.

            “Oh?  Someone in your family’s getting married?” asked Angie, interpreting this to mean that one of Jitsui’s relatives would be marrying one of Shimano’s.  “Isn’t that nice?  And it’s sweet of you to be taking care of him like this.”  Then she turned her attention to Shimano.  “You be good for Jitsui, understand?”

            Shimano nodded solemnly, shrinking back just a little.

            Angie laughed.  “Such a cutie pie.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Breakfast was so good that Shimano almost cried.  Again.  But he didn’t want to look like a sissy in front of Jitsui or Jitsui might change his mind about liking him.  So instead he focused on how happy he was.  His egg with rice was so delicious.  There was even soy sauce for it!  He’d missed soy sauce.

            Afterwards, he and Jitsui went out and around the city, taking cabs from one place to another.  The morning was spent shopping.  Buying clothes and shoes.  Some of the places they stopped in were kind of fun.  There were lots of clothes on hangers, and folded in stacks, some with cool designs on.  He hazily remembered going places like that with his mom, back when she was alive.  But then some of the places they went were boring.  In one of them, Shimano had to stand still and let someone take his measurements.  Standing still was hard when someone was so close and constantly touching him.  Shimano kept expecting an attack, and it was so hard not to strike first.  But finally, they were finished, and Shimano was rewarded for his restraint with clothes that were similar to Jitsui’s in design.

            “I’m going to advise having him wear suspenders instead of a waistcoat,” the man who’d measured him told Jitsui.

            “And your reasoning?” Jitsui asked curiously.

            “Waistcoats are meant to be slimming.  If he looks any slimmer, you’re going to have people calling the police, accusing you of child abuse, because they’ll think you’re starving him.  Keeping his white shirt mostly visible will make him look a bit more filled out.  And the suspenders will keep his pants from slipping down, better than a belt.”

            They took the man’s advice.  And they also picked up another pair of shoes for Shimano while he was there.  Something called loafers.  And a fedora hat, because Jitsui said he needed one to fit in with his new family.  When Shimano left he was wearing some of the clothes that they’d bought there.  It was too hot outside for the suit jacket, so that was left with the people at the shop, who Jitsui paid to deliver it, their earlier purchases, and some other clothes they’d bought at that shop, back to the casino for him.

            “It’s a bit early, but we did have an early breakfast,” said Jitsui, as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.  “And there’s a really good Japanese restaurant just a block from here.  Are you up for an early lunch?”

            Shimano stared at him.  “But we already ate.”

            Jitsui looked at him as puzzled as Shimano felt.  “We ate breakfast hours ago.”

            “Yes,” Shimano agreed.  He remembered.  It had been a damn good breakfast.

            “And it’s about time for lunch now.”

            And that was when Shimano remembered.  “Oh!  People eat more than one meal a day when they’re free to!”

            Jitsui’s gaze suddenly darkened.

            “Sorry,” Shimano said quickly.

            “No.  Don’t be sorry.  I’m not upset at you,” said Jitsui.  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

            “So . . . lunch?” Shimano asked, hoping to help Jitsui be not upset anymore.

            “Lunch,” Jitsui agreed, trying to smile at him.  There was something sad in his smile, but Shimano believed him when he said it wasn’t his fault.  “This way.”

            They started walking down the sidewalk.  Then they came to a place where they had to cross the street.  Suddenly, Shimano remembered a long forgotten rule, from his life before the warehouse and France.  He grabbed Jitsui’s hand before they stepped off the curb.

            Jitsui looked down at Shimano in surprise.  Then comprehension dawned on his face, along with delight, and he grinned and squeezed Shimano’s hand.  He didn’t let go when they reached the sidewalk on the other side of the street, however.  But Shimano guessed that was okay.  He didn’t mind if it was Jitsui.

            Some familiar faces turned up as they got to the restaurant.  That guy Kaminaga from last night was arriving just as they did, along with another man who Shimano hadn’t met, but had seen in a poster on the walls back at the hotel. 

            “Kaminaga.  Tazaki,” Jitsui greeted them.

            “Hey!” Kaminaga said, tipping his hat.  Shimano saw that he was wearing a fedora too.  So was Tazaki.  “What’s up?”

            “I take it this is him?” Tazaki asked.  “The kid from last night?”

            “Yes.  Tazaki, meet Shimano.  Shimano, this is Tazaki.”

            “The Astonishing Tazaki?” asked Shimano.  He had no idea what “astonishing” meant, but it had been written on both the poster and his shirt, so he didn’t think it was an insult.

            “I have been called that,” Tazaki said with a smile.  “But how did you know?”

            “I got him one of those souvenir shirts,” explained Jitsui.  “But we left it at the tailor’s.  It’s being taken back to D-Agency, along with some other things we picked up this morning.”

            “You clean up nice, kid,” Kaminaga said, stealing Shimano’s hat and spinning it around on one finger.  “I almost don’t recognize you.”

            Jitsui snatched the hat back and replaced it on Shimano’s head.  “Don’t tease him.”

            “I’m not teasing him.  He does clean up nice,” protested Kaminaga.

            “Will you two join us for lunch?” Tazaki asked, looking at both Shimano and Jitsui as he gave the invitation.  Shimano looked at Jitsui, who glanced down at him.  When Shimano gave a half-shrug, half-nod, Jitsui accepted. 

            Just like that morning, Jitsui requested, and got, a private room.  Shimano was glad.  As the day wore on, there were more and more people around, and it was wearing on his nerves.  The room was smaller than that morning’s but still very nice.  Cozy.  The table was a low one, so they sat on the floor around it.  On mats, just like in old style Japanese restaurants.  And the walls were made of paper screens.  Just looking around the room made Shimano feel a wave of homesickness, and a lump rose in his throat.

            “There’s something we’ve all been wanting to ask you, Jitsui,” said Kaminaga as they sat down.  He pulled his phone out of his suit and brought up something to show Jitsui.  “What the hell does this mean?”

            Jitsui took one look at it and raised an eyebrow.  “I think I was rather straightforward.”

            “You think?”

            “Yes.  I put it very simply, did I not?”

            “But . . . what do you mean?”

            “I think what Kaminaga is trying to say, is that what you’re proposing will involve a lot of responsibility,” said Tazaki.

            Jitsui smiled.  But his smile was different.  Sweeter, but scarier.  “So it’s a good thing that I’m a very responsible man, isn’t it?”

            “It’s about a little more than responsibility,” said Kaminaga.

            “If Miyoshi and Yuuki-san have an issue with my decision, they can take it up with me,” said Jitsui.  “Otherwise, it’s not up for debate.”

            They’re talking about me, Shimano realized.  Do they not want Jitsui to be taking care of me?

            “We’re not debating it,” said Tazaki.  “Overall, I don’t think that it will be a problem.  But there are some . . . details that will have to be worked out.”

            “And I will work them out.  One way or another.  I’ll remove myself from the agency if I must.”

            “Whoa, no one’s saying that,” said Kaminaga quickly. 

            “Then what are you saying?” Jitsui asked coldly.

            “To talk with us about these things,” said Kaminaga.  “If something’s this important to you, it’s important to us too.  But you have to let us know these things, Jitsui.  Come tell us to our faces, so we know exactly what you’re doing, and so we can throw some ideas out and help you.  Don’t just send us an email over something this big and expect that to be all there is to it.”

            Shimano watched as the frigid look on Jitsui’s face melted into an uncertain one.  But before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the waiter bringing their drinks.  Beer for Tazaki and Kaminaga, soda for Jitsui and Shimano.  Jitsui had wanted to order milk for him again, but this restaurant didn’t have that. 

            “How about a toast?” asked Tazaki, once he was gone.  “To D-Family.”

            “To D-Family,” Kaminaga agreed, raising his own glass. 

            Jitsui followed suit.  So Shimano did too, even though he had no idea what D-Family was.  But he was happy enough to go along with it, whatever it was, because Jitsui looked happy again.  The conversation that followed the toast was much less strained.

            Shimano decided pretty quickly that he liked Tazaki.  The older man was quick with a smile, and tried really hard to draw Shimano into their conversations and draw smiles out of him.  And he knew magic!  Shimano was amazed by his tricks.

            Kaminaga, he wasn’t as sure about.  Their meeting last night hadn’t been exactly good, since Shimano had knocked down his friend and Kaminaga had pointed a gun at him.  But Kaminaga had given him food on the ride to the hotel.  But then Kaminaga had upset Jitsui, just now.  But Jitsui seemed to be over that.  So Shimano didn’t know what to think. 

            The food was really good.  He could taste soy sauce in almost everything.  It reminded Shimano so much of home.  Midway through the meal his eyes started stinging.  Then his shoulders started shaking as he tried to fight back tears, as everything was starting to get to be too much again.

            “Shimano?  Shimano, what’s wrong?” asked Jitsui.  His conversation with Kaminaga and Tazaki came to a halt.

            “Nothing,” Shimano muttered, bowing his head so they couldn’t see his face.

            “Do you feel sick?  Does your stomach hurt?  Did you eat too much?  Or did I let you get too much sun?” Jitsui put a hand on his forehead.  “You feel a little warm.  You might have a fever.”

            “I’m fine!” Shimano tried to push him away.

            Jitsui was not deterred.  “You can tell me what’s wrong.  It will be alright.  I’ll help you.”

            Shimano shook his head and hunched in on himself further.  He wouldn’t let himself start crying again.  He wouldn’t.

            “Okay . . . alright . . .  I won’t pry,” Jitsui said.  But he pressed a gentle hand on Shimano’s shoulder and left it there.  “But I’m right here, alright?  And if you need me, all you have to do is say so.  And I’ll do whatever I can to help you.  Please know that.”

            Shimano grabbed the hand on his shoulder without thinking.  But not to break it.  Like he would have done to anyone who grabbed him yesterday.  Today he just held on tight.  He then rested his elbow and his other arm on the table, and leaned down to hide his face in them. 

            For a good fifteen minutes, Jitsui left his hand on Shimano’s shoulder.  He went back to talking quietly with Kaminaga and Tazaki, and used his other hand for eating.  After those fifteen minutes, Shimano managed to pull himself back together.  He slowly sat up, and glanced around to make sure no one looked too mad at him.  When no one did, he stopped squeezing the hand that Jitsui had rested on his shoulder, and switched to grab it with his other hand, since he’d had to reach across his body when he first grabbed Jitsui’s hand.  Now the hand that he held Jitsui’s with was the hand that was right next to Jitsui anyway.  He gave Jitsui one more quick glance to make sure the older boy wasn’t upset with him, or this new development, before he went back to eating, using his left hand. 

            The rest of the meal passed without incident, and no one said anything about his behavior.  He and Jitsui shared a cab with Kaminaga and Tazaki back to the hotel/casino.  D-Agency Hotel and Casino.  Shimano got a good look at it from the outside for the first time as they returned.  Last night they’d gone in through the back, and this morning he’d been looking ahead of them, not behind.  But now he could see just how grand a place it was on the outside.  It stretched up into the sky so high.  And it looked like it could fit a football stadium inside it.  It was a very shiny building, all glass, steel, and chrome.  Shimano almost couldn’t believe that places like this existed.

            “You live here?” Shimano asked Jitsui as they walked inside.  He thought he remembered Jitsui saying something like that, but he couldn’t quite recall.

            “Yes.  I live here,” Jitsui said.  “So does Kaminaga and Tazaki.  And you live here now too.”

            “Welcome home, kid,” said Kaminaga, and tipped Shimano’s hat down, playfully, so that it covered his eyes.  And then he yelped in pain.  When Shimano got his hat back in place, he was bemused to find Kaminaga hopping around, clutching his shin.

            “I did tell you not to tease him,” said Jitsui in a very pleasant tone.

            “He did tell you,” Tazaki agreed, looking amused.  Then he knelt down in front of Shimano so they were at eye level.  “One last trick before I go.”

            Tazaki held up his hand, and there was nothing in it.  Then he made it into a fist, and opened it quickly, and cards began flying out of it.  He caught them all in his other hand.  A full deck’s worth, in just about five seconds.  Then he pulled a box for them out of thin air and slid them into the pack, which he then pressed into Shimano’s hand.  “For you.  You can play with them if you’re bored.”

            Shimano stared at him wide eyed, then glanced at Jitsui to make sure it was okay.  When Jitsui smiled he looked back at Tazaki.  “Thank you.”

            Tazaki gave a mischievous smile as he stood.  “Welcome home,” he said.  Then he raised one hand and snapped his fingers.  And then he dissolved into a swirling cloud of pigeons, which attracted quite a bit of attention from passersby.  The pigeons rose into the air, toward the lobby’s skylight, where they disappeared in the brightness of the sun.  And now Tazaki was nowhere to be seen.

            “Show off,” muttered Kaminaga, but he looked good natured about it.  “Well, I want to get a few things done before my shift starts.  I’ll see you guys later.”

            “Bye,” Shimano said to be polite.

            “Break a leg,” said Jitsui.

            Shimano knew that expression.  He’d learned it in one of his English classes.  It was used by performers . . .

            “Is Kaminaga an actor?” he asked Jitsui.

            “What?  Oh, no.  I wasn’t trying to wish him luck,” said Jitsui.

            “Oh.” 

            “You’re so mean!” Kaminaga called back to them as he walked off.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Well?” Miyoshi asked when Kaminaga returned to Sublevel D.  He sat in their favorite lounge, waiting.  Tazaki was already there, somehow.  Kaminaga never had figured out how he did that disappearing trick, but he knew some of the mechanics.  He always did it in rooms where his pigeons would disappear into some kind of bright light.  One day he would work out the entirety of the trick.  But not today.

            “They ate Suteki’s, just like you predicted,” said Kaminaga.  “But Tazaki probably already told you that.”

            Tazaki nodded.

            “It wasn’t that hard to predict,” said Miyoshi with an exaggeratedly elegant shrug.  “The boy is native Japanese, and Suteki’s is the best Japanese restaurant in the city.  Not to mention it’s just a block from our tailor.  And Jitsui does seem serious about taking care of this boy.”

            “His name is Shimano,” said Tazaki.

            “I’m aware.”

            “I think you should start using it,” said Tazaki.

            “Yes,” agreed Kaminaga.  “I’m pretty sure he’s here to stay.”

            “All the more reason not to get used to calling Shimano,” said Miyoshi.  ‘There’s no way we can let him keep his old identity.”

            “Well, if Jitsui legally adopts him like he’s planning to . . .” said Kaminaga.

            “I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Tazaki. 

            “Neither do I, but tell Jitsui that.”

            “Whether Jitsui adopts him or not, it’s still a terrible idea for him to keep that name,” said Miyoshi.  “Now let’s move on.  What’s the situation?”

            “Jitsui’s in love with him,” said Tazaki.

            Miyoshi raised an eyebrow.  “You mean . . . ?”

            “Right now I think it’s puppy love.  But you can see it in his eyes, that it’s not going anywhere.  And Shimano clearly adores Jitsui right back.  I don’t know what it’s going to turn into, but the smart money is they’ll either end up being best friends or lovers, once Shimano grows up,” said Tazaki.

            “If we tell Jitsui that Shimano’s got to go, Jitsui’s going to go with him,” said Kaminaga.  “He made that clear.”

            “Well, that’s good to know from the onset,” said Miyoshi.  “Not that I think it would have been a determining factor in Shimano’s fate.  We’re not so irresponsible that we’re going to throw a kid out on the streets after we bring him back with us.”

            “Yeah, well it should make you happy to know that the kid seems mostly mentally sound,” continued Kaminaga.  “He’s not completely normal.  He’s definitely been traumatized, but it’s not debilitating.  According to Angie, Shimano seemed like a perfectly normal, sweet kid at breakfast today.  And if he’d had any sort of breakdown in public this morning, Jitsui would have brought him back before lunch.  But he made it through shopping in at least a couple different stores, before ending up at our tailor’s, where he would have had to get his measurements taken.  And they seemed perfectly fine when we met up with them.”

            “He did have a little trouble during lunch,” said Tazaki.  “I’m not sure what to call it.  It wasn’t a breakdown.  Or a tantrum.”  He looked at Kaminaga for help.

            “I’d say . . . he got a little overwhelmed?” suggested Kaminaga.

            “What happened?” Miyoshi asked.

            “We were talking, then he started slipping out of the conversation and getting quiet,” said Tazaki.  “Then he was bowing his head and shaking, and curling in on himself, but insisted nothing was wrong when Jitsui asked.  Whatever it was, he got through it alright.  Jitsui let him be, but told him he was right there if he wanted to talk, or if he needed help.  He put his hand on his shoulder, and left it there.”

            “Shimano grabbed his hand and held on,” put in Kaminaga.

            “It took about fifteen or twenty minutes, but then he managed to pull himself back together,” continued Tazaki.  “He stopped curling in on himself and went back to eating.  But kept hold of Jitsui’s hand.”

            “I bet that pleased Jitsui,” Miyoshi commented. 

            “It did,” said Tazaki.  “Shimano very obviously makes Jitsui happy.”

            “I’ve never seen him like this,” said Kaminaga.  “He’s acting like he just found his long lost little brother.”

            “Well, I’m glad for that,” said Miyoshi.  “He deserves some happiness in his life.”

            “What does Yuuki-san think about the situation so far?” asked Kaminaga.  He was very curious about this.

            Miyoshi shrugged again.  “I’m honestly not entirely sure.  He’ll want to be briefed in full before he makes any decisions.  But I’m sure he can see the merits of having someone with fighting skills like Shimano’s in our organization.”

            “The real question is, is Jitsui going to be okay with us putting his skills to use?” said Tazaki. 

            “Hm?  Well he’ll have to be if he wants Shimano to live on Sublevel D with him.  And it isn’t like we’d be throwing him into the deep end, suddenly sending him out to kneecap people we don’t like,” Miyoshi said.  “No one gets in with us that deep, that fast.  If he does join in the family business, he’ll start slow.  Just some bodyguard work for myself.  Or Jitsui.  He’s valuable enough to merit a bodyguard.  Maybe if it’s Shimano he’ll finally accept one.  Maybe shadowing Fukumoto when he goes to settle a debt, after a couple months.”

            “You better run it by Jitsui before you start making any more plans,” said Kaminaga.  “Shimano’s definitely his baby now.”

            “I think I’ll take your advice,” Miyoshi said.  “Is there anything else I should know about the boy?”

            “I like him,” said Tazaki. 

            “Me too,” Kaminaga agreed.  “I don’t know if he likes me, because we had kind of a rocky start, but I think he’s a good kid.  If we can help him, I want to.”

            “Are you both sure you haven’t just been charmed by his big eyes?” asked Miyoshi, smirking slightly.

            “Are you saying you haven’t?” Kaminaga teased back. 

            “If I haven’t, I’m the only one.  Fukumoto went out and picked up several books on proper child nutrition.  Odagiri, however, went out and picked up what he calls proper kid food.  Pizza rolls, fruit roll ups, and Lunchables.  Horrible stuff.  If Amari were in residence, I’m sure he’d be even worse, what with his big brother complex.”

            “Yes, if it was Amari we’d be adopting a kid and a puppy for the kid,” said Tazaki.

            “Well if it were you, we’d be adopting a kid and a dozen new pigeons for the kid,” Miyoshi said.

            “Or a rabbit.  But since it’s Jitsui . . . does it kind of feel to anyone else like he considers Shimano both a kid and a puppy in one?” Kaminaga asked. 

            They laughed.  Despite knowing Kaminaga was perfectly serious.

 

* * *

 

 

            Back up in Shimano’s room, Jitsui saw that their purchases from the morning had been delivered, and housekeeping had straightened the room and brought the items he’d requested.  He gave the parcels a quick once over to make sure everything was there, then started hanging the clothes up in the room’s closet.  Shimano came over and watched, looking uncertain, so Jitsui recruited him to help.

            “Suits need to always be hung up properly,” Jitsui told him.  “Otherwise you get creases and wrinkles in places where you don’t want them, and you look sloppy.”

            “Okay,” Shimano agreed.

            “Collared shirts can be folded, but you have to take care when you do so, to make sure all the creases are in the right place.  It’s easier just to hang them up, if you have room in your closet, and enough hangers.  Which we do.”

            “Okay,” Shimano said again.

            “Ties you either roll up and store in a drawer or hang as well.  But the rest of this,” he motioned to the bag of socks and underwear, “can just be folded and put in the drawers.  But we won’t do that now.  I don’t think you’ll be here very long.”

            Shimano made a distressed sound, which made Jitsui look at him quickly in alarm.

            “You changed your mind?” Shimano asked, shrinking away.  “You don’t want . . .”

            “No, that’s not it!” Jitsui cried quickly.  “I promised I’d take care of you, and I still want to.  Very much.  It’s only in this room that I don’t know how long you’ll stay.  I want you to move into a room on the floor where I live with the others, but . . . I have to work some things out before I can move you down there.”

            “Oh.”  Shimano still looked a little worried, but no longer so distressed.

            “I’m going to talk to Miyoshi about it later today,” said Jitsui.  “You remember Miyoshi?”

            Shimano nodded.

            “Well he’s one of my bosses.  And his father is my other boss.  I think they’ll let you move to the floor where I live, real soon.  Or if not, we’ll both just move somewhere else,” Jitsui said.  “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

            After the clothes were put away, Jitsui fixed some coffee.  Shimano’s room, like every room in the hotel, had its own coffee maker and stash of coffee packets.  And whichever housekeeper had taken care of the room had heard the rumors about Jitsui.  Extra packets had been left.  So he made some for Shimano too, and had the foresight to put in lots of sugar and creamer, the way he’d needed to take his coffee when he first started drinking it. 

            “What would you like to do this afternoon, Shimano?” Jitsui asked as he sat down at the table.  “I didn’t have anything planned for after we finished shopping.  So we can do anything you want.”

            Shimano stared at him like he didn’t understand the question.

            “We can go back out and do something in town,” said Jitsui, realizing that he probably needed to give the boy some options.  He had the feeling that Shimano had blanked at the idea of being able to do anything he wanted.  “If there’s something you want we can go shopping for it.  Or we can go swimming in the hotel pool.  We’ll have to get you some swim trunks, but the hotel’s stores sell those.  Or if you’re tired we can stay in.  I can loan you some books if you’d like to read.  I have books in Japanese and English.”

            “Can . . . we . . . go for a walk?” asked Shimano shyly.  “I just want to go outside.”

            Jitsui smiled even though his heart was simultaneously melting an breaking.  “Of course we can go for a walk.”

 

* * *

 

 

            The rest of the day passed smoothly and very enjoyably.  Jitsui found that the more time he spent with Shimano, the more he was charmed by the boy.  He was such a cute little thing, and he seemed so pleased and amazed by everything.  He spent the whole afternoon with his eyes wide open in wonder, as they walked along the Vegas Strip, past the multitudes of other casinos and resorts.  And whenever they crossed a street he, without fail, always reached for Jitsui’s hand, which never failed to send a pang through Jitsui’s heart.

            They stopped a number of times during their walk, to get drinks or just to get out of the sweltering desert heat.  Plenty of the other casinos and resorts had exhibits that were open to the public, and Jitsui and Shimano made a day of checking them out.  One casino had a miniature museum of the mafia inside, which Jitsui found wonderfully ironic.  But the one Shimano clearly liked best was when they stopped in one full of aquarium exhibits.  He spent a full twenty minutes in front of the shark tank, gazing through the glass in awe at the tiger sharks and hammerheads inside.

            “Want to go swimming with them?” Jitsui teased.  Then he was horrified when Shimano turned to him, eyes going even impossibly wider.

            “Can I?” he asked his whole face lighting up eagerly.

            Jitsui faltered.  “Um . . .”

            Then Shimano doubled over and started laughing.  “I’m sorry.  I was joking.  I’m sorry.  But your face!”

            It was the happiest Jitsui had seen Shimano so far.  And the first time he heard him laugh.  His laughter was contagious.  Jitsui found himself laughing too, at the smaller boy’s cheekiness, and because he couldn’t seem to help but laugh, seeing him look so happy.

            “You little . . .” Jitsui shook his head.

            Shimano seized his hand and held onto it, swinging his arm playfully, as he continued laughing softly.  He kept holding Jitsui’s hand all during the rest of the time they spent in the aquarium exhibits.  Before they left, Jitsui bought him a hammerhead plushy from the gift store, and a book about sharks, so that Shimano would have something to occupy himself with when Jitsui wasn’t around. 

            That was something he needed to start thinking about, Jitsui realized, on their way home to D-Agency.  He could take a few weeks off from all work.  Longer from his work in the control room, if he needed to.  But eventually he was going to have to do more hacking for D-Agency’s under the table business.  Sometimes hacking could take hours.  There had even been some times where Jitsui stayed up for several days straight to get through a firewall and extract everything D-Agency needed.  He would have to figure out what to do with Shimano during those times.  What did real parents do with their kids while they were at work? he wondered.  Then he remembered.  They sent them to school.  But that wasn’t an option.  Jitsui remembered his own experiences in public school.  There was no way in hell he would put Shimano through that.  Even if he wasn’t traumatized by all the shit life had thrown at him.  Jitsui would find something else.  Tutors, maybe.  Or maybe one of the others at D-Agency would have an idea.  Kaminaga did say that they wanted to help.  He’d check with them and see what they could come up with.  Hopefully they could help him find an option that would keep Shimano close.  For now, Jitsui didn’t want him leaving the casino unless he was right there with him. 

            By the time they got back to D-Agency, Shimano was all tired out.  Too much excitement, Jitsui supposed, as he took the boy back to his room.  And walking around in the heat all afternoon.  That took a lot out of anyone, even if you did stay hydrated. 

            “Do you need a nap before dinner?” Jitsui asked, seeing Shimano yawn for the fourth time as he turned on the lights of his room. 

            “Hm?  We’re having dinner too?” Shimano asked, perking up slightly with interest and something akin to disbelief at the prospect of being fed yet again.

            Jitsui’s heart felt like it was being clenched.  Whenever Shimano casually said something that made him remember what the boy’s life had been like for the past eight years, it sent a pang through Jitsui.  He didn’t want to imagine what it had been like for the little boy, to make him think that having regular meals was an alien concept, or being allowed to just go outside and walk around was what he wanted to do most, when he was told he could do whatever he wanted. 

            “We’re having dinner too,” Jitsui answered him, being careful not to look mad.  He didn’t want Shimano to think he was mad at him.  “From now on, every day, you’re having breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  So we better start getting you used to it, right?”

            The look Shimano gave him was like Christmas morning.  That just made Jitsui’s heart hurt even worse.  What he wouldn’t give to kill those bastards in the Ring a second time.

            “Mm,” Shimano said, which Jitsui had learned was equivalent to him agreeing. 

            “So, do you want to nap first?” Jitsui asked.  But before Shimano could answer, Jitsui’s phone buzzed.  He fished it out to check the text he’d just received.  Then frowned briefly.  Then he quickly wiped that expression away so that Shimano wouldn’t think anything was wrong.  “Actually, why don’t you try taking a nap?  Or watching TV?  I need to go downstairs and speak with some of the others.  Will you be alright in here for maybe an hour or two without me?”

            Shimano nodded, but what he was thinking was impossible to guess.  His expression had wavered for a moment, then gone sort of unreadable.  That worried Jitsui.

            “Are you sure?  If you need me to stay, I can put this off.”

            “I spent a very long time alone in a cage that was smaller than that bed,” said Shimano, pointing at said bed.  “I’ll be alright in this big nice room for a few hours by myself.”

            So Jitsui left him there, after another fifteen minutes of double checking everything to make sure Shimano would be alright, and would have everything he needed, even if Jitsui was away for longer than he’d thought.  He made sure Shimano knew how to work the TV, since the casino’s programing could be a little complicated.  He showed Shimano that the food from last night was in the mini fridge, in case he got hungry, made sure he didn’t have a fever, since they’d been in the sun so much, and then texted an order in to room service for a glass of milk, because he remembered Shimano hadn’t had milk for lunch, and he didn’t know how much milk growing children needed, but he knew Shimano sure as hell hadn’t been getting enough before now.  Then he had to wait until room service arrived with the milk, because he didn’t want Shimano to get accustomed to answering the door for strangers.  Only after it arrived and Shimano had drank half of it did Jitsui finally leave him.  When he glanced back before the door closed, he saw Shimano perched on his bed with his glass of milk on its room service tray on one side of him, his hammerhead plushy on the other side, and his shark book in front of him, looking perfectly happy with how his life was going.

 

* * *

 

 

            Even for Jitsui, meeting with Yuuki-san was always a bit nerve wracking.  Jitsui liked to think that he wasn’t intimidated by anyone.  Ever since he’d learned to see through the codes that ran all the world’s machines, and manipulate them to the point where he had power that could arguably be compared to a god’s, he considered himself anyone’s equal in terms of intellect and power.  Yet in Yuuki’s presence, Jitsui always felt like a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework.  He didn’t fear the man, per say.  It was more that he feared disappointing him.  He and Yuuki couldn’t really be considered close or anything, but he was the undoubted patriarch of D-Agency.  He and Miyoshi were the only ones Jitsui felt he had to answer to, but Jitsui considered Miyoshi more of a respected peer.  Yuuki, he readily acknowledged as his boss.

            “Report,” said Yuuki, when Jitsui stepped into his private office on Sublevel D, without making Jitsui wait to be acknowledged.

            “On what, sir?” Jitsui asked, even though he had a pretty good idea what Yuuki wanted to know. 

            Yuuki gave him a dirty look, like he wondered why Jitsui was making him waste his time.  “The boy.”

            “His name is Shimano Ryousuke,” said Jitsui.  “He is a thirteen-year-old martial arts prodigy, orphaned at age eight, and has spent the last five years as property of the Ring, until we liberated him last night.”

            “And you want to bring him into D-Agency . . . why?”

            “Because I think he needs to be here,” said Jitsui. 

            Yuuki didn’t seem to have been expecting that answer.  But from his expression, he didn’t dislike it.  A small smile even crossed his face, very briefly.  “And your reasoning?” he asked, voice still just as stern as ever.

            There was a lot that Jitsui could say about his reasoning.  Not the least of which was that he owed Shimano his life.  And he had a laundry list of arguments he could make about why Shimano would be a useful addition to the agency.  He knew Yuuki had already been briefed on how quickly Shimano had taken down Fukumoto the previous night.  By now he’d probably even seen Shimano in action, courtesy of whatever video clips of his fights had made it onto the internet, some of which one of the others would almost certainly have uncovered by now.  Kaminaga and Tazaki had probably reported in on what happened during lunch.  Neither were shrinks, but as career criminals, they both knew crazy.  And they knew Shimano wasn’t any kind of incurable crazy.  He was internalizing his fears, which wasn’t altogether healthy, but wasn’t a clear hallmark of someone damaged beyond repair.  He could have trashed the restaurant and caused a horrible scene.  Instead he’d shrunk in on himself and worked his own way through the fears that were eating at him, and pulled himself back together.  And he’d latched onto Jitsui’s hand, showing that he wasn’t incapable of connecting with people, even after all people had put him through.  It took a strong mind to do that.  In time, there was no doubt, that Shimano would be an asset to D-Agency.  His fighting aptitude and mental durability proved that they could find a place for him amongst their inner circle.  But it wasn’t just that which made Jitsui want to bring him in.

            “You know what he’s been through,” said Jitsui.  “He’s just a child, but he survived five years in conditions where most full grown men don’t survive a single month.  But he’s already healing from it.  Today I was able to see glimpses of the boy he was meant to be shining through.  And I know that the only way that boy is ever going to completely become who he was meant to be is if he stays here with us.  I don’t need to tell you what would happen to him if he was placed in foster care, which is what the authorities would do to him, as a best case scenario.  Worst case, he would be institutionalized or incarcerated.  This is where he needs to be.”

            Any man of D-Agency would understand what he meant.  Every single one of them was scarred or fractured in some way.  Cracked at the very least.  And not one of them was here simply because they wanted to be.  All of them were here because they needed to be.  Because D-Agency was what made each of them whole again, or at least as whole as they would ever be.  And what protected them.

            Make no mistake, D-Agency was no charity, and Shimano would be no charity case.  He would be more of an investment.  One that would pay off in time.  With his skills there was no way it would be an issue.  But if, for any reason, he was unable to, Jitsui would shoulder his debt for him.  He fully intended to take responsibility for the boy he was taking in.

            Jitsui, finished saying his piece, waited for Yuuki’s verdict.  He was more nervous than he should be.  Chances of Yuuki rejecting Shimano were low.  Especially since Kaminaga and Tazaki would have reported that if Shimano had to go, Jitsui would be going with him.  That had not been an empty threat.  Jitsui needed D-Agency, but Shimano needed him.  If he was prepared to take Shimano in and adopt him as his own, then he had to be prepared to put him first.  But he would much prefer it if they could both stay at D-Agency.  This place had become his home, and it would be the best place to raise Shimano too.

            “Agreed,” said Yuuki finally, putting an end to Jitsui’s internal torment.  Jitsui breathed a sigh of relief.  “You may move the boy down to live on Sublevel D.  Speak with Miyoshi about making further arrangements for his care.”

            “Yes sir,” said Jitsui, smiling.  “Thank you, Yuuki-san.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Shimano thought he would be alright in his room.  It was a really nice room.  Bigger than any room in the house he used to live in, and with so much nice stuff in it.  Not the least of which were his shark book and hammerhead plushy that Jitsui had got for him.  But after Jitsui left, something started itching in Shimano’s mind.  It was sort of a cramped, uneasy feeling, even though this room was so much bigger than his cage.  It was suddenly starting to seem confining.  The idea came into his mind that what if this was just another cage?  A nicer one yes, but a cage was still a cage.  Was he allowed to leave when he wanted to?  Could he even leave?

            So Shimano tried the door.  When he was able to open it, he found that he could breathe a little easier knowing that he wasn’t locked in.  But curiosity had taken root.  What would happen if he left?  Would Jitsui get mad?  If he did, did that mean that he was just Shimano’s new jailer?

            Shimano didn’t know.  But he needed to know.  So after an apprehensive debate with himself, he stepped out into the hall and let the door close behind him. 

            But what to do now?  Where to go?  Shimano didn’t know his way around the casino very well.  All the exploring he’d done with Jitsui that afternoon had been outside the casino.  But he was able to retrace the path that he and Jitsui took to get from his room to the other areas of the hotel.  The areas where people were constantly coming and going, and there were a lot of little shops and restaurants.

            A long time ago, back when his parents were still alive, they had once taken Shimano to Disneyland in Tokyo.  Shimano remembered being amazed by all that he saw there.  But Vegas seemed even more amazing.  There was so, so much.  All the colors and sounds were a bit overwhelming.  And the people.  So many of them.  But none of them aggressive.  It was bizarre, but a good kind of bizarre. 

            He wandered in and out of the shops, just looking at everything there was to see.  Not touching anything and not getting too close to anyone if he could help it.  He could deal with people, but he didn’t like them so close if they didn’t have to be.  He made his way down a staircase, past restaurants that he didn’t enter, but did peek into.  In one he saw that huge man from last night.  Fukumoto.  The one he’d taken down when he was trying to escape.  Shimano hurried on away from that restaurant.  He didn’t think Fukumoto would like him after that, and he didn’t want to have a rematch right now.  He didn’t think Jitsui would like that, and he was already doing something he didn’t think Jitsui would like.  He didn’t want to push too far.  Because he liked Jitsui, and what Jitsui thought did matter.

            Eventually, he found himself on some kind of game floor.  It kind of reminded Shimano of an arcade or a pachinko parlor.  Lots of people were playing cards, or sitting at machines that he recognized as slot machines.  The air here felt like it was full of energy.  Shimano wove his way through the people, just watching, until a tall man in a suit stepped directly in front of him.

            “Hi there.  Are you lost?”

            Shimano blinked up at the man, gauging him at a glance.  Amari was his name, according to the nametag he was wearing.  So he worked here, at this place.  He wore dressy clothes like everyone who worked here did, but his seemed a cut above what most of the staff was wearing.  Just like the clothes that Jitsui and his friends from last night wore.  Shimano suspected he was one of the people in Jitsui’s sphere of friends.  Because Amari moved like they did.  He was dangerous.  A fighter. 

            “Children aren’t allowed on the game floor, I’m afraid,” said Amari, still smiling down at him.  “Where are your parents?”

            Shimano shook his head.  He wasn’t going to tell Amari that.  It was none of his business.

            “Maybe you’re not here with your parents?” Amari suggested.  “Well, who are you here with?  I can help you find them.”

            “No,” said Shimano.  “It’s fine.  I’ll leave the game floor.”

            “Wait a moment,” Amari said.  “It’s really not good for you to be wandering around on your own.”

            “I’m fine,” Shimano insisted, backing away. 

            “Wait –” Amari reached out and caught Shimano’s shoulder.  Shimano reacted on instinct.  He threw Amari, twisting so that the man went flying onto one of the card tables.  Someone screamed.  A couple glasses broke.  And cards and chips went flying.  Shimano didn’t wait around to see what would happen next.  He turned and ran. 

            Another man tried to grab him.  One in a cheaper suit, who didn’t move like a fighter.  Shimano just twisted aside so the man’s hands missed him, and kept running, out of the arcade place and back the way he’d come.  Or at least he tried to.  But some more men in suits appeared to cut him off. 

            Break through or turn around? Shimano had only a second to make the decision.  And he decided to turn around.  This time.  Jitsui wouldn’t be happy if he hurt the people he worked with.  But then there were more men behind him, and this time Shimano didn’t have a choice.  He took the two men who’d cut him off from behind by surprise.  People were always surprised when Shimano attacked.  One was down before he even knew what was happening.  The other made a grab for Shimano, which Shimano ducked under, then came up with an uppercut.  Then the man went reeling, and Shimano kept running.

            Outside, he realized.  If he could just make it outside they would stop coming.  This was their building.  They wouldn’t follow him into another.  He could sneak back in later when they’d stopped coming, and get back to the room.

            But then a man that Shimano knew appeared.  Kind of knew.  Odagiri, from last night.  One of Jitsui’s friends.  He got in front of Shimano before he could reach the casino’s doors, and called out to him.

            “Shimano, stop!”

            Shimano skidded.  Hesitated.  Run or stay?  He didn’t know what to do.  They were going to catch him in a minute it –

            Another suited man grabbed his arm.  Shimano twisted, leading with a kick.  His foot hit the man in the jaw, and he let go, falling, mouth open with his tongue hanging out.

            “Enough!  All guards, return to your posts!” snapped Odagiri angrily.  “No one else try to touch that kid.”

            Shimano edged away from the guard he’d just kicked down.  The others were obeying Odagiri’s command.  No one else was coming at him.

            “Shimano,” said Odagiri, his voice calm again, and even curious.  “What are you doing here?”

            “I . . . I was just . . . looking around,” Shimano said.

            “Where’s Jitsui?” Odagiri asked.

            Shimano shrugged.  Odagiri sighed. 

            “You’re not in trouble, Shimano,” said Odagiri.  “I want you to know that first.  You’re not in trouble.  But young people aren’t allowed on the game floor.  The law says you have to be twenty-one years old to gamble.”

            “Oh,” Shimano said.  Then he added, “I don’t think I’m that old yet.”

            Odagiri’s expression twitched.  “You don’t know how old you are?”

            Shimano shook his head.  “But I don’t think it’s twenty-one.”

            “No,” Odagiri agreed.

            “I didn’t know.  I won’t do it again,” said Shimano.

            “It’s alright,” said Odagiri.  “You’re not in trouble.  But, will you come with me?”

            Shimano didn’t really have anything else to do, so he nodded.  Then he followed Odagiri through the halls, and back to the restaurant where he’d seen Fukumoto earlier.  Fukumoto smiled when he saw Shimano and Odagiri.  Not a malicious smile, like he wanted to hurt them either.  A nice smile, like he was really happy to see them.

            “Hi Odagiri.  Hello Shimano.”

            “Hello,” Shimano said uncertainly.

            “Do you know where Jitsui is?” Odagiri asked Fukumoto.

            “No.  Why?  Has something happened?” Fukumoto asked.

            “Shimano doesn’t know where Jitsui is either,” said Odagiri.  “But I imagine it won’t be long until Jitsui comes looking for him.”

            “Why don’t you wait here with me, Shimano?” Fukumoto asked kindly.  And Shimano started to think that maybe he’d misjudged Fukumoto. 

            Minutes later, he was sitting on a tall stool, at the bar, with a drink made out of ice and bananas, with a cherry on top of it that Fukumoto had made for him.  Odagiri sat beside him, but talked into a tiny microphone built into the wire he wore in one ear, to several different people, telling them that Code 3 had been a false alarm, and to drop it already. 

            “What exactly happened?” Fukumoto asked Shimano, as Shimano sipped his drink through a bendy straw. 

            “I caused some problems,” Shimano admitted, lifting the cherry off the top of his drink.  He studied it for a moment, appreciating the color, before popping it into his mouth.  It was delicious and juicy sweet, but he couldn’t fully enjoy it.  “Jitsui’s going to be mad at me.”

            “Maybe a little.  But Jitsui is fairly quick to forgive his friends,” said Fukumoto.

            Friends?  Were he and Jitsui friends?  Shimano didn’t know. 

            “You don’t need to worry.  I’m sure he’ll give you a little leeway since you saved his life last night,” said Fukumoto.

            Maybe.  Hopefully.  But hadn’t Jitsui more than paid for that already? 

            “Did you leave your room and go looking for Jitsui because you missed him?” asked Fukumoto.

            Shimano shrugged.

            Fukumoto smiled dotingly and replaced the cherry on top of Shimano’s drink with a new one.  “It’s alright if you did.  Jitsui will understand.”

            Maybe Shimano should lie and say that was it then.  Maybe that’s what he would tell Jitsui.  Or maybe not.  Maybe it would be better to see what Jitsui would do if he told him the real reason why he left the room.  He’d wait and see how angry Jitsui was before deciding what he’d say. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Jitsui’s discussion about Shimano’s fate had gone a bit too easy with Yuuki.  He should have known that fate would make up for it when he went to talk with Miyoshi. 

            “You can’t adopt him,” Miyoshi said when Jitsui broached the subject.  “Not legally.  It’s best to put that thought out of your mind right now.”

            “That’s not your decision to make, Miyoshi,” said Jitsui coldly.  “Yuuki-san’s given permission for Shimano to live on Sublevel D.  I’m taking responsibility for him and his upbringing.  It makes the most sense if I –”

            “It makes zero sense for you to adopt him,” said Miyoshi.  “It’s impractical and trying to will be more trouble than it’s worth.”

            “Yuuki-san adopted you,” Jitsui pointed out.  “I don’t see how this is any different.”

            “Yuuki-san was in his thirties when he decided to adopt me,” said Miyoshi.  “You’re seventeen.”

            “On paper I’m twenty-one, which is old enough to adopt a child in any state,” said Jitsui.

            “Yes.  But in actuality, you’re still seventeen,” repeated Miyoshi.  “Shimano is thirteen.  There’s a four year difference between the two of you.  That’s not a large enough difference to make you an appropriate father figure.”

            “Maybe not, but I’m willing to at least try,” said Jitsui. 

            “And you really think that’s what’s best for him?” Miyoshi asked.  “Him seeing you as a father?  And you think that’s what’s best for you?  Trying to see him as your son?”

            “I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Jitsui said angrily.

            “I do,” said Miyoshi.  “He looks like he’s younger than he really is, but biologically, he’s still a teenager.  A few years of proper nourishment will get his growth back on track.  So in a few years, he won’t be a child anymore, but a young man.  I’ve seen how you look at him now.  And how he looks at you.  You both adore each other.   Can you tell me with certainty that you won’t change from just loving each other to actually being in love with each other?”

            Jitsui’s face flushed.  “That’s not what this is about!  That’s not why I’m taking him in!  I don’t – I wouldn’t –”

            “It’s something that I have to consider,” said Miyoshi.  “As your friend.  You can’t know how you’ll feel about him in a few years, or how he’ll feel about you.  But I can tell you how everyone else would feel if you were to adopt him as your son, and then your feelings toward him became something else.”

            “It would be wrong,” muttered Jitsui, his face still burning.  He hadn’t even thought about this.  He wasn’t thinking of Shimano in those terms.  Shimano was only a child.  But now that Miyoshi had thrown it in his face, he knew that it had to be considered.  If he really wanted what was best for Shimano, he couldn’t afford not to think about this.  Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t making any plans, and didn’t have any designs on the boy.  But four years wasn’t much of a difference in age.  Shimano might very well grow to have a crush on Jitsui, or more than a crush.  And Jitsui couldn’t guarantee that his feelings wouldn’t change once Shimano was grown up.

            “For that reason alone, we wouldn’t let you adopt him as your son,” said Miyoshi.  “But there are other numerous reasons not to go that route as well.  Not the least of which would be the psychological evaluations of him that would be required by law, even if we gave him a new identity before you adopted him.  Him using his real identity as Shimano Ryousuke would open its own can of worms.  He’s not American.  And he has killed people.”

            “People who deserved to die,” Jitsui snapped.

            “And some who maybe haven’t,” said Miyoshi.  He held up a hand to stop Jitsui from protesting.  “In the Ring, he killed to protect himself.  But at least some of the people there only tried to kill him to protect themselves.  I don’t blame him for choosing himself over them.  I’d have done the same.  Anyone would do the same.  But the law wouldn’t necessarily be on his side and that is a headache we don’t need.  The easiest, and safest way to bring Shimano into D-Agency is to get him a new identity altogether.  One where he is already a legal adult, and won’t need to be dependent on anyone, in the eyes of the law.  We will, of course, take care of him, treating him as the young teen he is.  Everything he needs or needs to know, we’ll see he has and that he learns.  He just won’t have an official family on paper.  But he will have all of us.”

            Miyoshi was right, Jitsui saw.  He usually was right.  He was annoying like that.  But it didn’t make him any less right.  That would be what was best for Shimano.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t realized that himself sooner.  Maybe it was just because he wanted to give Shimano a home and a place with them so badly that he’d fixated on one path.  But Miyoshi’s way was better.  It provided more security for Shimano, and took into account more variables for what the future might hold.

            “Alright,” said Jitsui.  “I’ll accept that.  But he gets the room next to mine.”

            “The room you have currently filled with computer equipment that won’t fit into your own?” Miyoshi asked.  “Or the room on the other side that’s filled with all your books?”

            “They can be moved,” Jitsui said.

            “Would the room right across from yours not suffice?” Miyoshi asked, smirking.

            Jitsui fought down a scowl.  That was the logical conclusion.  Miyoshi had done it again, damn him. 

            He was saved from having to answer, by Amari, who limped into the lounge right then.  Both Miyoshi and Jitsui looked at him, taking in his state with interest.  His white suit was stained with wine and there were bits of glass in his hair.  He looked like he’d been in a bar fight?

            “What did you do?” asked Miyoshi, his smirk widening.

            “Shut up,” Amari groaned, as he collapsed into one of the lounge’s chairs.  “And if you’re having a private discussion, go do it somewhere else.  I’m sitting down here now.”

            “What happened?” Jitsui asked, trying to hide his own amusement.

            “I tried to do security’s job for them and paid the price,” said Amari.

            “An unruly guest did this to you?” Miyoshi asked, no longer smirking but full on grinning.

            “Kind of.  He took me by surprise,” said Amari.

            “That’s what you get for lowering your guard,” Miyoshi taunted.

            “You would have lowered yours around him too,” Amari said.  “He looked about ten and was so skinny I’d swear a good breeze would knock him over.  I still have no idea how he managed to – what?  What’s wrong?”

            Miyoshi and Jitsui’s surprise showed in both their expressions.  Then Miyoshi started chuckling, as Jitsui jumped to his feet. 

            “Was it a kid in brown trousers and a white shirt, with suspenders?” asked Jitsui.

            “Yeah.  How did you know?”

            “Dammit,” Jitsui muttered, already running toward the elevators.  He pulled out his phone and turned it back on, prepared to text Odagiri, but saw that Odagiri had already texted him.

            “At Fukumoto’s bar.  Come get your kid.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “He was wandering around on the game floor,” Odagiri told Jitsui when he met him near the elevators.  “Amari stepped in, thinking he’d lost his parents and made the mistake of grabbing him.  He ended up winded on a poker table and Shimano bolted.  A couple other guards tried to grab him.  It didn’t work very well.  Three are in the clinic.”

            “They deserve it,” said Jitsui coldly.  “He’s thirteen!  What were they thinking, trying to grab him?”

            “Probably that he was an unruly kid who needed to be held until his parents could be found.”

            “It’s not casino policy to grab guests who aren’t violent or otherwise provoking restraint!”

            Odagiri raised an eyebrow.

            “They started it by grabbing him,” said Jitsui angrily.  “You can’t blame him for defending himself!”

            “He’s with Fukumoto now.  He’s worried that you’ll be angry with him.”

            “I’m not angry with him.  Your men on the other hand –”

            “Were trying to do their jobs.  It was an unusual situation that they handled poorly, but I’ll deal with them,” said Odagiri.  “You focus on Shimano.  He needs you.”

            Something in Jitsui’s chest tightened hearing that, but not in a bad way.  It made him feel . . . almost proud.  Being needed by someone.  And for Odagiri to think that.  He and Odagiri had never been particularly close.  But Jitsui respected him.  He was serious and responsible.  If he thought that Jitsui should be responsible for Shimano, Jitsui considered that a high compliment.

            Shimano was sitting with Fukumoto, with what looked like a banana daiquiri in front of him.  A non-alcoholic one, since Fukumoto had made it.  If it had been Amari, Kaminaga, Miyoshi, or even Tazaki, Jitsui would have needed to wonder.  And threaten.  Shimano looked up almost right as Jitsui spotted him, as though he could feel Jitsui’s gaze on him.  The look he gave back was a little sheepish.

            Jitsui put on a gentle expression as he approached.  “Are you alright?” he asked Shimano to start off.

            Shimano nodded.

            “Why did you leave your room?” he asked.  “Were you looking for me?”

            Shimano hesitated.  Then he shook his head.

            “Why then?” asked Jitsui. 

            He hesitated still.

            “I’m not mad,” promised Jitsui.  “I just want to know.  If something’s wrong, I’ll fix it.”

            Shimano’s eyes widened and he clenched his jaw.  For a second he looked like he was about to cry.  Then he ducked his head and looked away as he answered.  “I wanted to make sure I could leave.”

            “What?” Jitsui asked.  He didn’t understand.  Did Shimano want to leave him?  But where would he go?

            “I know it was stupid,” muttered Shimano.  “But I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a cage.”

            It took Jitsui a second to understand.  But then he saw it. 

            Oh.

            He reached out and settled a hand on top of Shimano’s head.  Shimano stiffened, but then relaxed a little, as Jitsui patted his hair.  “You wanted to make sure you could come and go as you pleased.”

            “Yes.”

            “And are you satisfied that you can?” Jitsui asked. 

            Shimano nodded. 

            “Alright then,” said Jitsui.  He hopped up onto the stool next to Shimano’s, glad this was settled.  This evening had been very productive for getting things settled.  “Tonight’s the last night you’ll be spending in that room.  Tomorrow you’ll be moving in on the floor where I live, with Fukumoto, Odagiri, Kaminaga, Tazaki, and Miyoshi.  And . . . Amari.  But don’t worry.  I’ll make him get down on his knees and apologize for grabbing you.”

            “He doesn’t have to,” Shimano said.  “I wasn’t very nice to him either.  I’ll . . . apologize to him if you want me to.”

            “You’re a good boy,” said Jitsui, patting him on the head again.  “But no.  Amari needs to be put in his place now and then.”

            “That is the truth,” Fukumoto agreed.  Then he reached out, holding a cherry out to Shimano, and Shimano tilted his head back and opened his mouth for Fukumoto to drop it in, like he was a baby bird.  Jitsui didn’t know how he felt about Fukumoto getting Shimano to eat out of his hand like that, so quickly.  But he supposed it was alright.  Fukumoto was a good man, and a good friend.  He was glad that Fukumoto had decided to be Shimano’s friend too. 

            They ended up eating dinner in Fukumoto’s bar.  It wasn’t the healthiest choice of restaurant, since the menu consisted mostly of higher end bar snacks, but Shimano’s drink had a whole banana in it, so it balanced out.  And starting tomorrow they would be eating more meals on Sublevel D.  It was easier to put together healthy meals there in their own kitchen.  Not that Jitsui cooked often.  Not that he cooked ever, actually.  But Fukumoto did, and he always made sure there were lots of leftovers for the rest of D-Family to eat off of, and the cooking he did down in their home was healthier than what was made in his bar. 

            After dinner Jitsui took Shimano back up to his room.  By that time it was plain to see that the day was catching up to Shimano.  He was yawning constantly and his head kept drooping, and he reminded Jitsui of an exhausted puppy.  But even as sleepy as he was, he insisted on getting a shower before going to bed.  Being clean seemed very important to him.  A trait which Jitsui approved of.  He waited until Shimano came out of the shower, dressed in a set of the pajamas they’d picked up for him that day, and couldn’t keep a smile of adoration off his face as Shimano trudged to his bed, feet dragging with fatigue, and picked up his hammerhead shark plushy before climbing under the covers. 

            “This was . . .” Shimano broke off to yawn, then doggedly continued, “ . . . a wonderful day.  Thank you, Jitsui.  For everything.”

            “You’re welcome,” Jitsui told him, as he pulled the covers more securely over Shimano, and tucked him in.  “I was happy to do it.”

            “I can’t do much to repay you,” Shimano muttered.  “But –”

            “It’s alright.  You don’t need to.”

            “But if there’s anyone you want me to kill for you, I will,” Shimano finished.  Then he hugged his shark toy and nestled his face into the pillow, looking like the very picture of innocence, not noticing the startled look that crossed Jitsui’s face.

            “It’s . . . alright, Shimano.  You don’t have to kill anyone for me,” said Jitsui. 

            “Mm.  Okay.  But if anyone tries to hurt you, I will.”

            He was trying to be affectionate, Jitsui realized, and had to cover his mouth to keep himself from laughing.  Yes, it was a little twisted, okay, it was a lot twisted, but Shimano was verbalizing his affection in the only terms he knew how to, and Jitsui couldn’t help but find it endearing. 

            “Thank you,” Jitsui said, when he was finally able to speak without any laughter in his voice.  “Good night, Shimano.”

            “Good night, Jitsui.”

 

* * *

 

 

            After putting Shimano to bed, Jitsui made himself some more coffee.  He’d been awake over thirty hours so far, and was starting to feel it.  But there was so much to be done, and Shimano was worth losing a little sleep over. 

            He made sure that the room across from his was clean, vacuuming it himself, since it hadn’t been used in so long, if ever, and had gotten a bit dusty.  He got new sheets, towels, and washcloths from the hotel’s stocks.  Soap and shampoo he got from Sublevel D’s storage room, since he thought it would be better for Shimano to have a regular sized bar and bottle, instead of having to constantly go through the hotel’s travel sized ones. 

            Then, once he was finished making up the bed and stocking the bathroom, he realized that the room looked way too empty.  So he went to his book room, emptied one of his smaller bookshelves, and dragged it into Shimano’s new room.  Then he went back to his book room and started pulling all his favorite young adult novels for it.  Thankfully, he had many.  Jitsui loved to read.  And even though ebooks were becoming more and more popular and were so convenient, Jitsui still liked having actual books too.  There had been a time in his life when he felt like books were his only friends.  They had gotten him through his darkest days and given him a place to escape to where no one could hurt him.  And then they had given him the knowledge he needed to escape from that life.  He refused to give them up.  But giving them to a new friend who needed them more was a different story.

            Harry Potter was a must.  And Neuromancer!  Jitsui’s all-time favorite book, and the novel that had inspired his career as a hacker.  Thankfully, he had multiple copies.  And Eragon.  The first book only.  Artemis Fowl, who had been one of Jitsui’s personal heroes growing up.  And the whole Redwall series.  Jitsui considered the Hunger Games, but decided against it.  Kids fighting to the death was probably a more appealing topic to kids who hadn’t actually ever had to fight to the death.  Then there were some classics, like Treasure Island, Peter Pan, and the Chronicles of Narnia.  And the Hobbit, which meant he had to include the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and related works like the Silmarillion.  In no time, Jitsui had filled the shelf up. 

            There was already a desk in the room.  Jitsui stocked it with paper, pens, and pencils, then went into his own room intent on building a computer for his new charge.  Maybe he wasn’t going to be legally adopting Shimano as his son, but he was still going to take care of him.  And Jitsui had read recently that teenagers who didn’t have computers were at a horrible disadvantage to their peers.  Shimano wasn’t going to be at any kind of disadvantage on Jitsui’s watch.  But it was as he sat down at his desk to start figuring out what specs Shimano’s computer should have, that the lack of sleep finally caught up to Jitsui. 

            The day had been a long one but a good one, so filled with fun and excitement.  But now that it had wound down, Jitsui really needed more coffee if he wanted to stay up longer.  He didn’t even realize he was at his limit.  He simply sat down and started to reach for a hard drive he was 90 percent certain he hadn’t put anything on yet, when his eyes slid closed and he slumped down over his worktable, completely gone.

 

* * *

 

 

            When Shimano opened his eyes, it was to a view of the dark blue Las Vegas sky, in its predawn hour.  For an instant he thought he was dead, and that this must be heaven.  But then he remembered everything, and the hammerhead plushy he had been hugging in his sleep was proof that it had all happened.  He smiled as he finished waking up.  He couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d been looking forward to anything in life. 

            Unable to fall back asleep, he got out of bed, and went to brush his teeth and comb his hair.  Then he got dressed in some of the clothes Jitsui had bought for him and waited for Jitsui himself to show up.

            But the time when Jitsui had come yesterday passed with no sign of him.  And another hour passed after that.  Shimano looked at his shark book for awhile to pass the time, then turned on the TV.  He found some interesting things to watch, but couldn’t completely enjoy them.  As more and more time passed, he grew more and more apprehensive, because Jitsui still didn’t show up. 

            Maybe he changed his mind, Shimano thought fearfully.  Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.

            He didn’t think that was true.  Jitsui seemed really happy yesterday too.  But it was a fear that he couldn’t make go away. 

            The sky had turned from dark blue, to glowy light blue, to regular light blue, and the time on the bedside clock was 11:13 when finally, the door made that beeping sound that it had made whenever Jitsui unlocked it, and then started to swing inward.

            “Jitsui!” Shimano cried, jumping off his bed and leaping toward the door, relieved.  Then he froze.  It wasn’t Jitsui there, but one of his friends.  Miyoshi.

            “Sorry to disappoint,” said Miyoshi, smiling slightly.  “But I noticed that Jitsui fell asleep in the middle of working, and didn’t set an alarm.  And if I know Jitsui, which I do, he’s going to be frantic with worry for not having shown up here promptly to collect you, when he wakes up.  So I thought I’d bring you down with me, so we can spare him that worry.  You do remember me, from the night before last, don’t you?”

            Shimano nodded.  “Miyoshi.”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi.  “And you’re Shimano.  It’s a pleasure to properly meet you.”

            There was something polite Shimano was supposed to say, but it took Shimano a few moments to remember.  “Nice to meet you.”

            Miyoshi smiled again and motioned toward the door.  “Well then.  Shall we go?”

            Shimano nodded, then thought of something and quickly returned to the bed, to grab his shark plushy.  “Is this okay?”

            “Certainly.  And don’t worry about your other things.  I’ll have some of the hotel staff pack them for you, and Jitsui will see to their retrieval later,” said Miyoshi.  Then he held the door open, clearly indicating that he wanted Shimano to follow.

            Miyoshi, Shimano already knew, was extremely dangerous.  Not in quite the same way Kaminaga and Fukumoto were dangerous.  Those two gave away how deadly they could be with their every movement.  No, Miyoshi was dangerous the way Jitsui was.  His movements clearly showed he was a fighter, but not a top tier one.  But his easy confidence and unfeigned self assurance spoke of the kind of power that came from being able to kill someone, or ruin their life, without having to even lift a finger.  It was probably better to stay on his good side, Shimano decided.  And so he followed Miyoshi out the door.

            Miyoshi led him down the hallway, and into one of the private hallways, just for people who worked there, then to an elevator.  Once inside, he pushed a button for an unmarked floor, then held his watch up against a lit up square on the control panel.

            “Jitsui may have told you that only D-Agency’s inner circle are allowed to set foot on the floor that we call home,” Miyoshi explained, seeing Shimano watching curiously.  “To ensure we receive no unwanted guests, we have extra security measures.  The floor is locked to anyone without the proper clearance.”

            “Your watch unlocks it?” Shimano asked.  That was so cool.  It was like a villain’s watch in a spy anime!

            “A computer chip in my watch unlocks it,” said Miyoshi, pleased by his enthusiasm.  “All employees here at D-Agency have chips with different access codes built into their employee IDs.  But I’m not an employee.  As such, I have certain privileges.”

            “You’re the boss?” Shimano asked.

            “Yes.  Well, the second boss.  My father, Yuuki-san, is the first.  You’ll meet him soon.”

            “And he said it was alright for me to live with Jitsui?” Shimano asked.  “Or you did?”

            “We both did,” said Miyoshi, giving him another smile.

            “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” said Miyoshi.  “We should be thanking you for saving Jitsui’s life, actually.  You did us a favor.  We like him, just a little bit.”

            Shimano smiled back at his joking tone.  Then the elevator stopped going down and the doors chimed and opened.  Shimano followed Miyoshi out of the elevator and peered around curiously.  So this was where Jitsui lived.  Where he was going to live now too. 

            It looked surprisingly homey.  Expensive, like everything in this place that Shimano had seen looked, but still comfortable, and nice, and airy.  And there were more Asian influences here, Shimano saw.  The walls were clean white, but broken up and accented by wooden beams that made the hall look warmer.  Here and there were woodblock prints on the walls, or wooden stands with potted orchids or bonsai trees on them.  The rooms that they passed that the hall opened in on seemed to be a harmonious blend between Eastern and Western styles.  Then they came to a side hallway with numerous closed doors, whose layout reminded Shimano of the rooms in the hotel’s hallway.  These must be Jitsui’s and his friends’ rooms.  And maybe one of them would be his.

            Miyoshi confirmed this, by tapping on a door as they came to a stop.  “This room will be yours, but I’m going to leave it to Jitsui to show it to you.  He was scurrying around, preparing it for you last night, so I’ll let him do the honors.  This room, however, is Jitsui’s.”

            Then he opened the door without knocking.

            The room . . . was kind of a mess.  But Shimano thought that was a little funny.  Computers and computer parts were piled on tables all around the room’s edges.  The room’s bed was pulled away from the wall far enough that it left an aisle of walking space between itself and the unbroken ring of computer tables.  The bed was made up neatly, but was left unused.  Its owner sat in a chair, slumped over one of the worktables, his head pillowed on his folded arms, and turned to one side, so they could see his sleeping face.  Jitsui looked very peaceful right there.

            He looks like an angel, Shimano thought, and smiled when he realized how appropriate the comparison was.  He’s my angel.  He saved me.

            He glanced at Miyoshi for permission, and when Miyoshi gave him an encouraging look, he walked forward until he stood several feet away from his guardian.

            “Jitsui?” he asked softly.

            “Mm.  Shimano,” Jitsui murmured.

            “Are you awake?” Shimano asked.

            “Hm?  Huh?” Jitsui’s eyes opened.  They focused on Shimano, and he blinked several times and slowly sat up.  “Shimano?  What – oh, no, what time is it?”

            “After eleven,” Miyoshi informed him. 

            Jitsui stood up so quickly that his chair fell over and Shimano jumped, startled.  “I’m sorry,” Jitsui said in a rush.  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you up in your room alone so late.”

            “It’s alright,” said Shimano quickly.  “I was fine.”

            “You must be hungry,” said Jitsui.  “You haven’t had breakfast yet?  I’ll fix you something –”

            “I’m alright, Jitsui,” Shimano said, purposely using a cheerful voice, hoping that it would make Jitsui feel better.  “Good morning!”

            It worked.  Jitsui paused and his panic seemed to die down a little.  “Good morning,” he returned, and then righted his chair. 

            “Amari went out and picked up bagels this morning,” Miyoshi said, retreating out the door.  “There are still some left in the kitchen.  Refrigerate the cream cheese when you’re done.  And introduce him to Father sooner, rather than later.  He won’t admit it, but he’s curious to meet Shimano himself.”

            “Thanks Miyoshi,” said Jitsui.

            Miyoshi responded with a lazy wave as he disappeared from sight.

            “What’s a bagel?” Shimano asked.

            “Come,” said Jitsui, holding out his hand, and Shimano immediately took it.  “I’ll show you.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Jitsui still wanted to kick himself for falling asleep without setting an alarm and leaving Shimano alone for so long, but Shimano seemed alright.  They had a nice breakfast of bagels and fruit, with milk for Shimano and coffee for Jitsui.  Then Jitsui showed Shimano his new room.  He smiled as Shimano looked around the mostly empty room with just as much wonder as he’d showed seeing the sights on the Strip, then went and moved his shark toy to its new home on his bed. 

            “So big,” Shimano said, spinning around to take it all in.  “And it’s right across from your room!”

            “You can come find me any time if you need me,” said Jitsui.  “For anything.  I’ll always help you when you need it.” 

            Shimano looked at him with shining eyes, and Jitsui felt his heart melting even more. 

            He didn’t quite understand himself just how he’d become so attached to the boy, after knowing him such a short amount of time.  Or why he’d been unable to leave him behind when they crushed the Ring.  Shimano saving his life had been a convenient excuse, but he knew the kid had killed the man who’d been trying to kill Jitsui more for his own sake than Jitsui’s.  He’d done it because he wanted to, not to help Jitsui, and so Jitsui shouldn’t have cared about letting him disappear into the night with the other people that the Ring had enslaved, that D-Agency had freed.  But he didn’t need to understand why he’d felt such a strong need to take Shimano in.  Shimano made him happy.  He thought that was enough to justify his actions. 

            The rest of the morning, and the first part of the afternoon was spent showing Shimano around Sublevel D, getting him an ID chip that would let him be able to use the elevator to get back down there on his own, and going over the house rules with him.  There actually weren’t that many rules for living in Sublevel D.  No guests was the major one.  Most of the others were just your usual roommate courtesies, like not going into anyone else’s room without permission.  And keeping the noise level down.  That one was important, since the members of D-Agency’s inner circle kept odd hours because of their jobs.  Both their jobs, real and cover.  But that detail wasn’t explained to Shimano just yet.  Jitsui doubted it would be a problem once it was.  Shimano’s time in the Ring had given him a warped sense of what was right and wrong.  Some of his views they would need to correct, or at least alter over time.  Others would simply help him fit in at D-Agency better. 

            After lunch, Jitsui received the text he’d been dreading.  The reply to the message he’d sent Yuuki-san during breakfast, asking when would be a good time to introduce Shimano to him.  The answer he got was simply one word.  Now.

            “Shimano,” Jitsui said, “There’s someone I need to take you to meet now.”

            “Okay,” Shimano said, willingly enough.

            “Have you heard anything about Yuuki-san?” he asked, leading Shimano to his room first, since it was on the way to Yuuki’s office.

            “He’s Miyoshi’s father,” said Shimano.

            “Nothing else?”

            “Um . . .  Well . . . Geroux said he was a dumb old man.”

            “What?” Jitsui’s eyes widened.  “Who is Geroux?”

            “The man who tried to shoot you, who I killed.  He and the other owners of the Ring talked about Yuuki a little bit before and during our last move.  They said Yuuki couldn’t touch them if they bought the Metro’s protection.”

            That startled Jitsui into laughing, even though he realized this wasn’t a laughing matter.  Not really.  He realized now that he should have tried to debrief Shimano about the Ring.  Or not debrief so much as have him report on what he knew.  He might have overheard something useful.  If he had the names of anyone from the Metro, that would be helpful.  Jitsui had a hard time digging up info on their under the table operations, since most of those didn’t end up in any computer system.  But if he had names as starting points, he could at least dig up dirt on those people.

            “But they were clearly wrong,” said Shimano, cheerfully.  “Yuuki sent you all in and you killed them all.  Except Geroux.  Who I finally got to kill.”

            “Hm.  Well.  Do you know anything else about Yuuki-san?” Jitsui asked, to get the conversation back on track.  “Anything you heard from someone at D-Agency?”

            “Um . . . he owns D-Agency and is everyone’s boss?”

            “Yes.  That’s right.”  Jitsui pulled Shimano into his room and searched for his comb.  He found it amongst his soldering equipment and quickly ran it through Shimano’s hair, to straighten it up a little.  Now that he thought about it, he realized he should have gotten one of the others to give Shimano a haircut.  It was a little bit long, with the edges hanging raggedly down to his cheekbones.  And while the uneven edges were kind of cute, some people might just consider it sloppy.  But it was too late to fix that before introducing him to Yuuki.

            Jitsui then quickly found a tie.  Nothing fancy, just a plain brown tie.  He quickly put it on Shimano.  Now all that he was missing was a jacket, but those were still back up in the room he had booked for Shimano.  He made a mental note to go up and get them as soon as this ordeal was over.  For now he considered having Shimano wear one of his, but then decided not to.  It would look like Shimano was dressing up in his big brother’s clothes again if he did. 

            “You’re going to meet Yuuki-san now,” said Jitsui, straightening the tie up.  “You might find him a little scary at first.  A lot of people do.  But I promise you, he won’t do anything to hurt you.  The only people who have to worry about being hurt by him are the ones who threaten his family.  And you’re the newest member of our family.  Which means he’ll protect you.  So don’t be afraid, alright?”

            Shimano nodded, and Jitsui realized from his expression that his warnings had only made the boy nervous.

            “If you bow to him while you’re wearing a suit, he’ll ask you if you’re stupid,” said Jitsui, deciding to give some general warnings as they left his room and started toward Yuuki’s office.  “He does that to everyone, so don’t worry if you forget.  He doesn’t really think you’re stupid.”

            “But I’m not wearing a suit.  Not a full suit.”

            “Yes.  So you should be okay if you want to bow today.  Also, don’t be afraid to look him in the eye.  He respects people who look him in the eye.  Don’t lie to him, even if you think he won’t like the truth.  He always knows when he’s being lied to.  And don’t worry if you don’t understand everything he says.  Just ask me questions later, and I’ll explain it.  Alright?”

            “Alright,” Shimano said.  Then he reached out for Jitsui’s hand in that adorable way of his.

 

* * *

 

 

            Yuuki was a very tall man with a stern face and silver hair.  He also had a cane that he didn’t need, a limp that wasn’t real, and a fake left hand.  Shimano saw this all at a glance.  And he also saw that Yuuki was different from Miyoshi and Jitsui.  And from himself and Fukumoto and Kaminaga.  He had both the power to kill you without lifting a finger, but could effortlessly do it himself.  Shimano didn’t know if he could beat him in a fight.  Meeting someone so dangerous made his mouth go dry.  He bowed low on instinct, and stayed bowed, the way he would have for one of his old martial arts instructors, until they gave him the order to stop bowing.

            “Straighten up,” Yuuki said after it became apparent he was going to stay bowed until ordered otherwise.

            Shimano quickly obeyed.  He studied Yuuki more as Yuuki studied him, and he was suddenly aware of all how he must look.  Stupid and skinny.  Dressed up in clothes that were too good for him, pretending he was better than he was.  Not dirty anymore, thankfully, but still not worth much.  He wanted to run away.  A hand dropped down on his shoulder and made him jump, but it was just Jitsui.  The older boy gave him an encouraging look.

            “Jitsui.  Wait outside.”

            Shimano made a noise of dismay and grabbed Jitsui’s hand. 

            “I’d rather stay, sir,” Jitsui said, squeezing Shimano’s hand.  “Shimano is still adjusting to meeting so many new people.”

            “I would rather speak with him alone,” said Yuuki.  His voice was neither kind nor cruel, but it was insistent. 

            Then, to Shimano’s dismay, Jitsui obeyed.

            “Alright.  Shimano, I’ll be right outside the door, okay?”

            Shimano hesitated.

            “It’s alright.  I wouldn’t leave you alone with him if it wasn’t,” Jitsui whispered.  “You know that, don’t you?”

            Finally, Shimano nodded. 

            Jitsui met Yuuki’s eyes again, and gave him a warning.  “Be nice to him, sir.  I’ll be very unhappy if you scare him or hurt his feelings.”

            There was a threatening note in Jitsui’s voice.  But to Shimano’s amazement, Yuuki actually smirked.

            “Jitsui makes things very difficult for people he is unhappy with,” said Yuuki, once the door was shut behind Jitsui.  “Has he told you what he does?”

            Shimano looked back at Yuuki and shook his head.

            “Have a seat,” said Yuuki, sitting down behind his own desk and motioning toward the chairs on the opposite side. 

            Shimano carefully came forward and perched on one of the chairs.

            “Do you know what a hacker is, boy?”

            That word was familiar.  It only took Shimano a moment to remember.  “Someone who works with computers.  Who busts through computer security.”

            “Yes,” said Yuuki.  “Jitsui is a hacker.  And he is very good at it.  In fact, it is very possible that he is the best hacker in the world.”

            Jitsui hadn’t mentioned this.  But Shimano believed it.  It made sense.  Where Jitsui’s power came from.  And it explained why Jitsui’s room looked like a computer forest. 

            “How much has Jitsui told you about himself?” Yuuki asked.

            “Not . . . not too much, sir,” admitted Shimano.

            “He’s probably afraid of scaring you off with his sordid past.  But he wouldn’t be able to, would he?” asked Yuuki.

            “No, sir.”  Shimano didn’t care what had happened to Jitsui in the past, or what he did.  He wanted to stay with him no matter what.

            “Don’t blame him for being afraid,” said Yuuki, and suddenly he seemed much less scary.  “He’s been abandoned by people who he’s known far longer, for reasons far flimsier.”

            “I’m not those people,” said Shimano defiantly. 

            A smile ghosted across Yuuki’s face.  “Clearly not.”

            Shimano wondered if it would make Jitsui happy if he killed those people for him.  But he might not want to talk about it at all.

            “I think that it’s taken him up until now to realize that we here at D-Agency would not abandon him the way his real family did,” said Yuuki.  “He is the newest member of our inner circle.  Or at least he was, until he brought you in.  Has he explained to you what it is that D-Agency does?”

            “No sir,” said Shimano.

            Yuuki smirked.  “But have you guessed on your own?  Or at least made any theories?”

            Shimano nodded.  “You own this casino.  But you do more than that.”

            “Continue.”

            “You took down the Ring, because they were arranging a big gambling event without your permission, in your city.  And you retain the services of a hacker, as well as a bunch of dangerous fighting men.  And Jitsui spent a lot of time at the mafia exhibit we looked at, with a strangely amused look on his face,” said Shimano.  “So . . . you’re either a mafia group yourselves, or something similar.”

            “Yes,” said Yuuki.  “And how do you feel about that?”

            Shimano almost shrugged, but caught himself in time.  He thought that might be rude.  “I . . . I think it’s better for me that you found me than the police.”

            “And why is that?” Yuuki asked curiously.

            “Because I’ve killed a lot of people.  The police would have killed me.”

            Yuuki’s expression grew shadowed.  “They told you this in the Ring, did they?”

            Shimano nodded.

            “They lied to you, boy.  I think you should know that,” said Yuuki.  “There are laws in every country about children who commit crimes.  They vary from country to country.  But in most countries, they would not have killed you for what you’ve done.”

            “Then they would have locked me up again.”

            “Possibly,” Yuuki agreed.  “Probably.  But in most countries, you still would have been treated better than you were in the Ring.”

            “But no one else would have treated me as good as Jitsui has,” said Shimano.

            “No.  Probably not,” Yuuki agreed.  “So you have no objections to joining us?”

            “No.  None, sir.”

            “Despite what we may ask of you?”

            “I already promised Jitsui I’d kill anyone he wanted me to,” said Shimano.  “I’ll kill anyone you want me to too.  Because . . . you’re my boss now, right?”

            Yuuki had fixed him with a look that Shimano couldn’t quite interpret.  “You are very unique, Shimano Ryousuke,” he said finally.  “But I have another job for you, to begin with.”

            “Alright,” Shimano agreed, wondering what this could be.  Maybe just beating someone up?  Or maybe Yuuki wanted him to go kill a horse and put its head in someone’s bed.  Shimano had seen a movie where people in the mafia did that, a long time ago, but his mama had turned it off before he could finish it. 

            “You are not to tell Jitsui about this job,” Yuuki said, and for a moment Shimano felt worried, because he didn’t want to keep secrets from Jitsui.  But Yuuki’s next words put him at ease.  “But your task is to guard Jitsui whenever you accompany him outside the casino.  If anyone attempts to harm him, stop them, by whatever means you deem necessary.  Simply restraining or rendering them unconscious is preferable.  But if killing them is necessary, do not hesitate to do so.  Do you understand?”

            Shimano nodded solemnly.  He could do this.  He would like this job.  It was one that he would want anyway.  “I understand.”

            “Do you know why I want them restrained and alive instead of dead when possible?” Yuuki asked.

            “So we can kill them slowly and horribly later, at our convenience, and make everyone else think twice about trying to hurt Jitsui,” said Shimano, confidently.  It was an easy question.  But the look Yuuki gave him made him feel like he’d said something funny.

            “Well, there is that.  But keep this in mind as well.  It is very hard to get information out of dead men.”

            “Oh.  That too,” Shimano agreed.  “I meant to say that too.”

            Yuuki smirked.  “You’ll do well here, boy.”

            “Thank you, sir,” said Shimano.  Yuuki seemed much less scary now. 

            “Be diligent in your job,” said Yuuki.  “But do not let Jitsui know that I gave you this order.  He doesn’t think he needs a bodyguard.”

            “But you think he does?” asked Shimano.  His eyes narrowed.  “Have people tried to hurt Jitsui before?  Before Geroux anyway?”

            “Geroux?” Yuuki asked.

            “The man I killed back at the Ring,” said Shimano.  “The one who was trying to shoot Jitsui.  But have other people tried to hurt Jitsui?”

            “Not recently,” said Yuuki.  “But Jitsui has many enemies, and many more people who would want him to work for them because of his skills.  The threat of D-Agency retaliating has kept them all at bay since Jitsui joined us.  But the dangers to Jitsui will always remain, and I will do all that I can to keep Jitsui safe.”

            “So will I,” Shimano promised, standing straighter. 

            “Good,” said Yuuki.  “Then it seems we have an accord.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Jitsui had been worried about how Shimano’s first meeting with Yuuki would go.  But afterward, he was glad that all his worries had been for nothing.  He knew that the meeting could have gone horribly wrong.  Yuuki was too . . . Yuuki.  And Shimano was a bit too much like an untamed animal.  If he was scared, he would either bolt or attack.  But Yuuki, being Yuuki, had seen the best way to charm the boy.  And now Shimano spoke of Yuuki-san in a respectful tone, and was definitely on his side.

            And so life at D-Agency entered a state that became its new normal.  One that included Shimano in their lives now.  It wasn’t all easy.  The boy’s past was as dark as any of theirs.  And he had been through more abuse than any of them.  There were times that they could tell Shimano was on the brink of a breakdown.  Times when his eyes went wild and he retreated into himself, refusing to talk, or make eye contact, or do anything except hunch in on himself as he dealt with whatever torrent of emotions was threatening to overwhelm him, just as he had that first day in the Japanese restaurant.  But they learned to deal with that, and over time those instances became less and less frequent.  And even at the beginning, where they did come more often, they were still far outweighed by the good that Shimano also brought into their lives.

            Having a kid around changed things.  It made them seem more like a family to Jitsui.  Or maybe, he realized, the others had always been like this, and he hadn’t been able to see it until he began seeing more of them, thanks to their interactions with Shimano.  But Shimano was instantly adopted by all of his colleagues as their little brother.  Fukumoto especially doted on him.  And Odagiri, who it was generally understood would be Shimano’s direct boss when he was old enough to work on the casino floor, got in the habit of helping him stay in line and adjust to the way he needed to act around strangers and other people now that he was back in the world.  Amari made amends for his first missteps when meeting the boy, and it wasn’t long before he was teaching Shimano various and random things.  Some of them even helped him fit into the normal world.  But most, being too random, really didn’t.  Tazaki had always been in Shimano’s good graces.  Shimano had been taken by his magic tricks and his kindness from the beginning.  So Jitsui approved completely when they developed a close friendship.  Tazaki was probably the one Jitsui himself was closest with, and he had always been a good friend.  Even in the days before either of them joined D-Agency.  Kaminaga sort of set himself up as the obnoxious big brother.  He liked to provoke and tease Shimano, but never took things too far.  And it quickly became obvious that having someone to banter with was helping Shimano come out of his shell.  Jitsui worried a little when the two began to practice sparring together, but both seemed to enjoy it too much for him to stop them.  And Miyoshi, who Jitsui expected to be standoffish with someone that much younger than him, actually treated Shimano as a peer the same as any other man of D-Agency.  At first, Jitsui thought that he was just interacting with the boy so that he would know how he would react in situations in the future.  And at first, Miyoshi probably was.  But in time, he could tell that Miyoshi’s affection for Shimano was genuine, and that he sought the boy out more because he wanted to be around him than because he felt obligated to. 

            But Shimano always remained closest with Jitsui.  Though strangely, Jitsui wasn’t sure how to classify what his and Shimano’s relationship had become.  He cared for the boy, the way he thought he’d care for a son or a younger brother.  But normally, he thought, that would lead to some distance between them, because it would put him over Shimano, like an authority figure.  But that distance never manifested.  Maybe because Shimano had also become his best friend?  Or maybe because Shimano had his own . . . not really authority, but power.  It was funny.  Most of the time, around Jitsui, he was like an eager puppy, to the point where the others teased Jitsui about Shimano being his pet.  But then there were times that made it clear Shimano was every bit Jitsui’s equal.  Or the equal of any member of D-Agency. 

            They got those glimpses of him when a member of D-Agency was threatened.  As they frequently were, considering what they were.  Like, for instance, the time when an upstart nothing mafia family tried to set up shop in Vegas, and stupidly decided that taking out Miyoshi would be a good place to start.  Miyoshi had gone out for ramen, one of his guilty pleasures, and had invited Shimano along on a lark.  But the bodyguard he’d brought along with him had sold him out and stepped away, after contacting the upstart family, who sent two enforcers.  Shimano had been in the bathroom when they came for Miyoshi and dragged him out into the alley.  But the ramen shop was such a small hole in the wall joint that when Shimano returned, he had established at a glance that his friend was not there, and gone out looking for him.  When he found Miyoshi with a bruised cheek, being held at gunpoint, he had taken down both enforcers before they even knew he was there.  One had ended up with two broken arms and a broken nose.  The other had ended up in a coma for three weeks, and had to have extensive surgeries done on his face to put the bones in his cheeks and the pieces in the front of his skull back in place. 

            While there were times that it scared the hell out of Jitsui, because Shimano’s skill set was one that required him to be in dangerous situations to get any use out of it, it also made him very happy that Shimano could stand with the rest of them as equals.  Though they weren’t calling him Shimano by that time.

            Because two weeks after Shimano had come to live with them, Jitsui had gotten him a new identity.  He’d been a little worried Shimano would balk at giving up his name, but had managed to explain it in a way that let him get through to the boy, and made him more open to a name change.

            “I wasn’t always Jitsui,” he explained one evening, as they sat on Shimano’s bed, watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.  “Jitsui was a name that I gave myself, when I became a hacker.”

            Shimano looked at him with interest, as he always did when Jitsui started talking in a serious tone.  He even picked up the remote control and muted the TV’s volume.

            “My name when I was born was Kunio Ikeda,” Jitsui admitted.  That name felt strange on his tongue now.  As did the next one.  “But when my parents divorced, neither one of them wanted me.  I was a reminder to both of them of the other.  So they gave me up for adoption.  To a nice elderly couple.  And my name was changed to Kunio Morishima.”

            Shimano said nothing, which Jitsui appreciated.  He didn’t like getting apologies or pity when he told this story.  And that wasn’t why he was telling Shimano this story.  Time had made him less bitter about it.  Well, time and a new family.  But he still didn’t like talking about it.  But he wanted Shimano to understand that leaving behind an old name wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.  Sometimes it could help you leave behind the person you used to be.  But that came a bit later in his story.

            “But later that year, my new family and I were in a car wreck.  My new parents both died.  Neither of my birth parents would take me back, so I was put in foster care.”

            He started when Shimano’s hand seized his, then managed a smile for the boy and continued his story.  “I started using the name Jitsui when I first became a hacker,” said Jitsui.  “I got interested in computers because my adoptive mother taught me about them.  Then, after she was gone, I started to realize that I could do things with them that other people couldn’t do.  Things that people thought I shouldn’t be able to do.  But because I understood the code, I could do them.  I could change reality with only a few dozen strings of numbers.  Hacking gave me a way out of my old life.  I was able to use it to get the money I needed to leave my old life behind and start a new one.  And to ruin the people who hurt me.  Before, I was no one.  But when I became Jitsui, I was powerful.”

            Shimano gave him a tentative smile and squeezed his hand. 

            “You don’t . . . you don’t have to completely leave behind the name Shimano Ryousuke,” said Jitsui.  “We can still call you that, if you want.  But you’re going to need another name for going forward.  Because Shimano Ryousuke is a thirteen year old Japanese boy who, if he’s ever found by authorities, is going to have to be held and questioned by them.  So, we’re going to need to give you a different name, for when you have to give your name to someone outside of D-Agency.”

            Shimano looked up at him with big eyes, and Jitsui couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

            “You’re going to give me a new name?” he asked finally.  And it was still impossible to tell what he thought of this.

            “You can pick one,” Jitsui assured him.

            “But I want you to give me one,” Shimano said.  

            “Alright,” said Jitsui.  “But why?”

            Shimano flushed slightly.  “Because . . . because my parents gave me my first name.  They were important.  I loved them.  But they’re gone now, and you’re here.  And you’re also important.  And I . . .” His blush grew even worse.  Jitsui couldn’t help smiling.  “And . . . and you’re the one who saved me.  You’re the one who gave me a new life,” Shimano said in an embarrassed rush, disappointingly (but adorably) shying away from the L word.  “So if I’m to have a new name, I want you to be the one to give it to me.”

            Jitsui nodded his acquiescence solemnly.  “Alright then . . . Hatano.”

            Shimano perked up, some of his cute blush regretfully fading.  “Hatano?  Is that?”

            “Your new name,” said Jitsui.  “If you think it’s alright.”

            “Hatano . . . I’m Hatano.”  Shimano, now Hatano, beamed.  “Nice to meet you!”

            “Nice to meet you too,” said Jitsui, grinning back.  “I’m Jitsui.  Since we’re introducing ourselves to each other properly this time.”

            “Yes.  Which is better than me telling you to fuck off again,” said Hatano.

            “It really is,” said Jitsui, remembering their first meeting.  “And better than me threatening to shoot you.  Which I wouldn’t have.”

            “I know.”  Hatano gave him a cheeky smirk.  “You couldn’t have hit me.  I would have been too fast for you.”

            “Oh, you think so?” asked Jitsui.  He wasn’t about to argue his own case, however.  Debating whether or not he could have or would have shot Shimano – Hatano, was not something he ever wanted to do or even think about.

            Hatano responded by tackling Jitsui around the waist, and knocking him flat onto the bed before Jitsui could react.  “I know so.”

            This led to a playful wrestling match, which Hatano won without even really trying, though Jitsui put up the best fight he could without turning things serious.  He even cheated a bit and nipped at Hatano’s ear, prompting Hatano to maneuver himself behind Jitsui, and pin him in a hug from behind, using his legs to restrain Jitsui’s arms against his sides, while his hands were free to wrap around Jitsui’s shoulders.

            “I win,” Hatano said triumphantly, resting his chin on top of Jitsui’s head.

            “You win,” Jitsui agreed, and leaned back against him limply, in defeat.  He stayed that way even after Hatano unclamped his legs from around Jitsui’s arms.  Mainly because Hatano kept his own arms wrapped loosely around Jitsui’s shoulders, like he wanted him to stay resting there, except for when he reached off to the side for a moment, and grabbed the remote, to unmute Shark Week.

 

* * *

 

 

            Notes: And there you have it.  How Hatano was brought into D-Agency.  :)  I know it’s really long, but this is the last thing I’m posting before I go on hiatus for a week or two, so I wanted to leave you with something nice and long, so you won’t forget me while I’m moving. ;_;  When I get back, I’ll probably post another side story or two before starting the next arc, Tazaki’s Arc.

 

Before I go, the artist Tivanny has been spoiling me rotten with fan art for my fics.  Since the last time I updated this fic, she’s drawn me four new pics for this fic alone.  The links to them are also in the Fan Art Index, but I wanted to post them again right here, in case anyone just skimmed over the list of pics and assumed they’d seen them all already.  Tivanny always does such an amazing job, and I don’t want anyone to miss out on these brilliant illustrations. :)

 

Dangerous Career Criminals: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148531739791>

Feeling Better: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148584633701>

Death by Pomeranian: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148785435161>

The Cherry Thief: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/148834319696>

 


	14. Spoiling the Brat

I am back from my moving hiatus with a new side story for my Casino AU!

 

Set shortly after D-Agency takes Hatano in.  Featuring kid!Hatano.

Pre-series.  Post Hatano’s Origin.  Concurrent with the third to last scene of Interlude: Alain Lernier. 

 

 

            Taking in Shimano Ryousuke, now officially known as Hatano Ryousuke, changed the family dynamic for D-Agency’s inner circle.  They had always been close.  Always considered each other family.  But having a kid around made it different somehow.  Better.  More fun.  It was kind of like a shot of espresso after months of drinking decaf.  A change of pace and an infusion of energy in one.

            The best thing about having Hatano around, it was unanimously decided, though they never spoke of it, was the effect his presence had on Jitsui.  Their second youngest had only been around about a year, and there had always been some distance between him and the rest of D-Agency.  They understood the young hacker had a hard time getting close to other people.  Finding someone who needed him as much as Hatano had, had definitely helped fill a hole in Jitsui’s soul.  These days he always seemed to be smiling, and was growing closer to the rest of his peers daily, bonding with them over mutual interest in Hatano’s care and wellbeing.  Looking at him, you’d have thought he found his long lost little brother.  Kind of.  To be honest, he treated Hatano as sort of a cross between his own child and a new pet.  But there were no doubts at all that he genuinely cared for the boy.  This was clearly the only way he knew how to show it, and Hatano either didn’t mind, or didn’t know any better.  Or likely both. 

            The others had more conventional ways of showing that they cared about Hatano.  And their favorite way was by spoiling him rotten.  Honestly, after what he’d been through, the kid needed someone to dote on him.  When they found him, the only thing in the world that he owned was a ratty pair of pants and a bunch of gruesome scars.  No one at D-Agency was hard up for cash, and they quickly discovered that they liked giving Hatano things.  He needed more stuff, and his eyes never failed to light up whenever they gave him a present.

            Kaminaga had gotten in trouble a few times, giving the kid things.  He couldn’t help his mischievous nature.  Many of the things he did for fun had the ulterior motive of also being partly for annoying one of his colleagues, or just as a joke.  Early on, for example, he gave Hatano a rock.  Nothing special about it.  Just a big chunk of desert rock, about the size of a brick.  No explanation for it.  Just handed it over with an innocent smile, and a “Here, Hatano.  I got this for you.”

            Hatano accepted it the same way he accepted every other present.  With a big grin and a sincere “Thank you.”  Then he carried it around the kitchen for the next twenty minutes, as he helped Fukumoto finish making cinnamon rolls.  Fukumoto gave Kaminaga a disapproving look, since he knew perfectly well what Kaminaga was up to.  But Hatano didn’t seem to even suspect, and when the cinnamon rolls went into the oven, he carried his new rock back to his room.

            “You know Jitsui is going to find out,” said Fukumoto.  “You know how he feels about you teasing Hatano.”

            “I’m not teasing him.  Not really,” Kaminaga defended himself.  “I just wanted to see what he’d do if I gave him something worthless and pointless.”

            “Doing something like that for the sake of getting a reaction out of him is the same as teasing him.”

            Jitsui did find out, as Fukumoto predicted.  Kaminaga didn’t know if Hatano had asked him what the rock might be for, or if Jitsui saw it in Hatano’s room, on one of his nearly empty shelves, and asked him why he had a large rock.  But however it happened, Jitsui found out.  Kaminaga knew because his ID chip suddenly went buggy and he found himself randomly getting locked out of areas he definitely should have been able to access.  His punishment lasted a full week.  He was lucky Tazaki and Amari took pity on him and started waiting for him at the end of his shift, or he would have had a hard time getting back down to Sublevel D.  Afterward, Kaminaga was almost willing to admit that it hadn’t been worth it.  Almost, but not quite, because Hatano kept that rock for ever after.  Years later, Kaminaga followed him into his room to borrow some ammo rounds, and saw the rock being used as a bookend.  And he’d felt a little bad, because yeah, he had been teasing young Hatano at the time, but he was touched that the kid had kept it all this time.

            But one of the better times that Kaminaga stirred up trouble, getting something for Hatano, was that time they bought him a couple new t-shirts.

            It happened about three weeks after they’d taken him in, on a sweltering summer day.  The kind where it was no exaggeration at all to say you could cook an egg on the sidewalk.  People didn’t realize that just walking around outside during the middle of the day in Vegas during the summer could be more dangerous than walking through back allies in the middle of the night.  Just about every place that sold drinks in Vegas did good business on those days.  And on that particular day, Kaminaga, Tazaki, Fukumoto, and Odagiri all had the day off. 

            Staying in the nice air conditioned casino was tempting, but sometimes you just had to get out on your day off.  Get a change of scenery.  It was Tazaki that suggested a trip to their favorite café, even though it was halfway across town, and well away from the Strip.  Some days you just needed a frozen cookies and cream-espresso chiller, and today was definitely one of them.

            They came across Hatano in the lounge connected to the elevator that they usually used, on their way out.  He was sitting at the base of one of the couches, surrounded by books and worksheets, diligently writing away.  When they entered, he jumped into a crouch, like he was ready to bolt, but then relaxed, seeing that it was only them, and settled back down.

            “Hello.  Good morning,” he told them.

            It was actually early afternoon, but the men of D-Agency kept odd hours.  The first time they saw each other during any given day, if they were still on Sublevel D, “Good morning” was almost always considered an appropriate greeting.

            “Good morning, Shimano.  I mean Hatano,” said Tazaki.  “We were going out to a café.  Would you like to come with us?”

            Hatano looked down at the books and worksheets all around him, then back up regretfully.  “I’m sorry.  Jitsui asked me to study this afternoon before I take my placement tests.”

            “Oh?  He’s getting you some tutors?” Odagiri asked kindly.

            Hatano nodded.  “I’m sorry.  Otherwise, I’d come.”

            “Don’t be sorry,” Fukumoto said gently.  “Your education is important.”

            Kaminaga snorted.  He disagreed.  Book learning wasn’t going to do much for a kid who’d been kept in a cage and had to fight for his life at least once a month.  He had a job lined up for him, as a future enforcer for D-Agency.  They should be letting him enjoy his life, now that he’d finally reclaimed it.  But Jitsui had decided Hatano needed tutoring, and Miyoshi had agreed.  Kaminaga didn’t want to argue with them.  Especially since he was pretty sure he was in the minority with this opinion.  And maybe he was wrong.  But he still thought that Hatano should be allowed to come have fun with them instead of having to have his head filled with worthless facts.  Well, he’d just have to make it up to the kid by bringing him something back.  But not an icy coffee drink.  It would be lukewarm by the time he got it back to the casino, and no longer a tasty treat.

            They bid Hatano goodbye, with promises to bring him along next time, then got a cab to the café, since the prospect of having to park a car and walk a block, or however far they had to walk, to the coffee shop was very daunting in this heat.  Especially while wearing suits.

            Their favorite café was something of a tourist trap, unfortunately.  But then, just about everything in Vegas was a tourist trap.  Shop space was limited and rent was high.  They had to pry every buck out of your wallet that they could to compete, and so touristy knickknacks and souvenirs filled the empty space in the café, ruining what would otherwise have been a fairly nice ambience.  It was a shame, but there was nothing to be done about it.

            Frozen cookies and cream-espresso chiller with extra whipped cream and chocolate chips on top in hand (as well as the phone number for the cute new barista) Kaminaga went to find them a table, which wasn’t an easy task here.  Not today.  But they were in luck.  A group of three people who’d been seated at a four person table was just leaving.  Kaminaga snagged the table and sat down to wait for his friends. 

            They drank their coffee leisurely.  There was no reason to hurry.  Other people wanted their table?  Too bad.  They were there first.  And their chillers were too good to just chug down.  They loitered maybe a little longer than they should have.  But they knew how hot it was outside, and going back out into that just seemed so blah.  So as they were finally standing up to leave, and a rack of shirts caught Kaminaga’s eye, he was reminded of the decision he’d made to bring something back for Hatano.

            “Hey, wait a minute guys,” Kaminaga said, and led them over to the shirt rack.

            “T-shirts, Kaminaga?” asked Tazaki, confused.

            “Yeah.  Don’t you think Shima – Hatano could use a couple?” Kaminaga asked. 

            “Didn’t Jitsui buy him a bunch of clothes?” Odagiri asked.

            “Yeah, but Jitsui bought him dressy clothes,” said Kaminaga.  “Suits and collared shirts.  The only casual thing he has to wear are pajamas.  And that one shirt advertising Tazaki’s show.  He’s a kid.  He should have some kid clothes.  T-shirts, jeans, Chuck Taylors.  The kind of things normal kids wear.”

            “You’ve got a point,” said Tazaki, and he started going through the rack of shirts too, looking over the different designs. 

            The shirts weren’t top quality merchandise, since they were in a tourist trap.  But the designs were fun, and varied, and most importantly, didn’t have “Las Vegas” splashed all over them.  Kaminaga wasn’t going to let the kid go around looking like a tourist. 

            But as they were browsing, two men came their way, and sank down at the closest table.  Kaminaga’s attention was caught by them, though he tried not to show it.  When he glanced at Odagiri, he saw that Odagiri had seen it too, but Fukumoto and Tazaki didn’t seem to have seen it.  But those two men were cops.  Maybe not from the Metro, but they were definitely law enforcement.  It was something about the way they carried themselves that gave them away. 

            Well, he realized, they weren’t from around here.  That made him relax a little.  They looked like people who weren’t used to dealing with the desert heat and sun.  Both of them sported a little sunburn, and looked like they’d gotten their tans just in the last few weeks. 

            “Do you think he’ll like this one?  It’s cute.  It has a bear on it,” said Fukumoto, holding up a light blue shirt with teddy bear’s head printed on it.  But . . . not a particularly cute teddy bear.  It actually looked rather surely, and like it was in a mood, with its bushy eyebrows slanting downward, making it look a little angry.  Perhaps it was upset because it was wearing a bowtie?  Kaminaga would have been upset if he had to wear a bowtie.  Especially a red one.

            “I don’t know,” said Tazaki critically.  “Is there one with a pigeon on it?  Oh, what’s that you’ve got there, Odagiri?”

            Like Kaminaga, Odagiri seemed to have decided that the two cops weren’t Metro, and therefore weren’t a threat.  So he’d gone back to perusing the t-shirt rack.  Now he held up a red t-shirt with grayish-beige sleeves and lettering.  Or numbering, rather.

            “Nine-eighty,” Odagiri read the number off.  “Is this supposed to mean something?  Do you know, Kaminaga?”

            “I don’t know, but it looks like the kind of thing Miyoshi would hate,” said Kaminaga, grinning broadly as he realized this.  He had a gift of sometimes just being able to look at something and know that someone would absolutely hate whatever that thing was.  And right now he could see the twisted look of distaste that Miyoshi would be wearing if he so much as got a glimpse of the Nine-eighty shirt.  “I say we get it.  That way we accomplish two things at once.  We get the kid some more clothes of the sort that someone his age should be wearing.  And we annoy Miyoshi at the same time!  Win-win!”

            Tazaki laughed softly, and even Odagiri chuckled.

            “As long as we get the bear shirt too,” said Fukumoto, adamant about this.  “It’s too cute not to get.”

            One of the cops tossed aside his straw and started chugging his iced coffee as the men of D-Agency decided that yes, they should get both shirts.  Kaminaga saw out the corner of his eye, that the other cop was pinching the bridge of his nose.  He looked like he had a heat induced headache.  And they both looked . . . really down on their luck.  Not like they’d just gambled away everything they owned.  Kaminaga was very familiar with what that looked like.  No, these men looked more like they’d come here looking for something desperately, and hadn’t been able to find it.  They looked like they’d run themselves ragged searching, and were finally admitting defeat.  Kaminaga actually found himself feeling a little bit bad for them.  Then he mentally berated himself for it.  Sympathy for cops, from an assassin?  Ridiculous.  As he crossed the shop with his friends, he put the two cops out of his mind.  Whatever they’d been looking for and whatever they’d failed at, it was no concern of his.  And it wasn’t like he’d ever see them again.  So to take his mind off them, he teased Tazaki about pouting over there being no pigeon t-shirt, and laughed with his friends as they went to buy the shirts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Hatano was still in the lounge when they returned, but he was no longer studying.  He was sleeping.  The poor boy had been bored into unconsciousness by all those books and worksheets.  Kaminaga knew they should have taken them with him.

            “Let’s draw on his face,” he suggested, crouching down by the kid.

            “Let’s not,” said Odagiri.

            “Jitsui will kill you dead,” said Tazaki.

            “And none of us will stop him,” Fukumoto finished. 

            “You guys are no fun,” whined Kaminaga.  Then he reached out and grabbed Hatano’s shoulder to shake him awake.

            In retrospect, it was a dumb move.  The moment his hand touched Hatano, the boy’s eyes flew open and he flew into action.  The next thing Kaminaga knew, he was face down on the floor, his arm twisted behind his back, with a skinny teenager on his back, growling like an animal. 

            Then Hatano really woke up and jumped off him.  “I’m sorry!”

            “Don’t be sorry.  He deserved that,” said Fukumoto solemnly.

            “He really did,” agreed Odagiri. 

            “Not helpful, you guys!” Kaminaga said, rubbing his arm.

            “Aww, what’s the matter?  Did the big, scary assassin just get taken down by a child?” Tazaki teased, and Kaminaga knew this was revenge over being mocked about the lack of pigeon shirts. 

            Hatano looked back and forth between them all, looking apprehensive and confused.  “Assassin?”

            “Nice job, Tazaki,” Kaminaga said with a groan.  Didn’t it just figure that the kid knew that word?  They’d had to teach him a number of utilitarian words in English like microwave, and seatbelt.  But of course he knew what assassin meant.  Damn kids and their violent videogames.

            “Crap,” Tazaki muttered under his breath.

            “You’re an assassin?” Hatano asked, looking at Kaminaga with wide eyes.

            “Well,” Kaminaga said.  “You see, Hatano . . . we brought something back for you!  Look!  Fukumoto, show him!”

            “Please look at this,” said Fukumoto, pulling out the bear shirt. 

            Kaminaga’s occupation was quickly forgotten by Hatano as he was presented with a present.  But Hatano’s eyes didn’t light up the way they usually did when he was given something.  Instead they took on a solemn look, and he stepped closer to look at the shirt Fukumoto was holding up on display.  Then, instead of taking it, he reached out with one hand to touch the bear on it, tracing its outline.  His expression didn’t lighten any.  If anything, it grew graver.

            Kaminaga and the others exchanged glances.  He had never seen Hatano act like this, when given something, and from their looks, neither had they.

            “Do you like it?” Fukumoto asked gently.  “Is it alright?”

            “I . . .  had this shirt.”

            “I’m sorry.  I don’t understand.”

            “Before,” Hatano said, his eyes suddenly shimmering.  “I had this shirt.  A shirt just like this.  My mama bought it for me.”

            Oh.

            “Oh.  I . . . I’m so sorry,” said Fukumoto.  “I understand if you don’t want it.  You don’t have to –”

            Hatano whined and clutched at the shirt as Fukumoto moved to put it back in its bag.  Then he hugged it to himself as Fukumoto let go of it.  He backed away from them, then, until he backed into a chair.  Then he sank to the ground at the foot of it, hunching in on himself, and bowing his head so they couldn’t see his face.

            Damn, Kaminaga thought.  This just got real dark, real fast. 

            They’d seen Hatano do this several times.  It seemed to be a sort of defense mechanism, for when he was too overwhelmed by memories, and his past.  He just curled in on himself and lost himself in his thoughts.  Eventually, every time before, he’d pulled himself out of it.  Sometimes after only a few minutes.  Sometimes it took much longer.  But none of them ever knew quite what to do.  Not even Jitsui.  Speaking of which . . .

            Kaminaga pulled out his phone to text the young hacker.  He would not take it well if he found out Hatano had one of these episodes and he hadn’t been informed.

            “Jitsui has been notified,” Odagiri reported, having just sent the message on his own phone. 

            “Right.  Good,” said Kaminaga.  Jitsui was the better one for this.  Somehow.  Even though Jitsui wasn’t really a caring type, he magically transformed into one around Hatano.  Being nice and helping people deal with feelings and stuff like that wasn’t Kaminaga’s thing.  He was just no good at it at all.  Though sometimes he wished he was.  Like right now.  He wanted to help Hatano.  He just didn’t know how. 

            He watched, feeling a little lost and a little envious, as Tazaki carefully approached Hatano, and knelt down, several feet away from him.

            “Hey, Hatano.  I just wanted to let you know that Jitsui’s on his way down, to be here for you.  And I want you to know that the rest of us are here for you too, if you need us,” Tazaki said softly. 

            Kaminaga took a seat on a nearby couch.  Fukumoto and Odagiri settled as well.  Kaminaga wondered if maybe they were doing more harm than good, all of them hovering, when Hatano just couldn’t deal with the world as a whole, at that moment.  But if they all left, would he feel like he’d been abandoned, or like they wandered away because they were bored with him or thought he was annoying?  No one really wanted to take that chance. 

            Jitsui arrived a minute later.  From the look of him, he’d run all the way from the control room to the elevator.  He glanced around at all of them, probably looking for guilty expressions, then at Hatano, who was still clutching the teddy bear shirt.  Then he motioned for Tazaki to move back, and approached Hatano himself.

            “Hatano?  Jitsui’s here, so I’m going to step back so we don’t crowd you, okay?” Tazaki said.

            Hatano twitched slightly.  A sign that he was coming out of his mood?  When Jitsui crouched beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, he reached up to take Jitsui’s hand in his.

            “It’ll be alright.  Take as long as you need,” said Jitsui.

            This time, it was like Jitsui’s voice was the trigger.  Or maybe his words.  Kaminaga didn’t know.  He’d seen Jitsui talk to Hatano while he was in this state before and not get any reaction until fifteen minutes later.  But this time he got immediate results.

            Hatano looked a little dazed as he blinked up at him.

            “There now,” said Jitsui, smiling gently.  “You’re alright?”

            “Yes,” said Hatano, flushing slightly.  “Yes.  I’m alright.  I’m sorry.  Thank you for the shirt, Fukumoto.  I love it.”

            “You’re welcome,” said Fukumoto, simply.

            A slightly awkward silence followed.  One that no one really knew how to fill.  Hatano fidgeted, embarrassed by his little episode.  Kaminaga decided that distracting him from that was for the best, even if it did get him in Jitsui’s bad graces.  Shame was the last thing he wanted to let Hatano feel.  For any reason, but especially one connected to his past.  The little guy didn’t deserve that, and Kaminaga didn’t know quite why he cared so much, but he did.

            “Hey Hatano, I’ve got a shirt for you too!” Kaminaga said, pulling the Nine-eighty shirt out of the bag and holding it up on display.  “See?  What do you think?  Is this cool or what?”

            This time Hatano’s eyes lit up the way they were supposed to when he got a present.  Maybe not as brightly as normal, but right now Kaminaga would take what he could get.  Anything to keep the kid happy. 

            “Nine-eighty,” read Jitsui, and he looked at Kaminaga suspiciously.

            “I don’t know if it means anything special,” said Kaminaga quickly, as Hatano took the shirt and held it up to admire.

            “You didn’t think to Google it?” asked Jitsui, pulling out his tablet to do just that.  Kaminaga held his breath.  But after a moment, Jitsui put his tablet away without hurting him, so he heaved a sigh of relief.

            “It doesn’t mean anything weird?” Tazaki asked.

            “Thankfully for Kaminaga’s sake, no,” said Jitsui.

            “Thank you, Kaminaga,” said Hatano, beaming at him. 

            “You’re welcome,” said Kaminaga, ruffling the kid’s hair.  “Hey, why don’t you go change into that shirt and wear it during dinner tonight?  Let Miyoshi see you in it.”

            “Okay!” Hatano immediately dashed off to his room to go change into it. 

            “Is there a reason you’re buying him clothes?” asked Jitsui.  But rather than annoyed, he looked concerned.  “I bought him a lot of clothes.  Was what I got him not adequate?”

            “He needs kid clothes too, Jitsui,” Kaminaga explained.  “The kind of thing he can lounge around in, or go run a mile in.”

            “Run a mile?  Around here?” Jitsui looked horrified at the very idea. 

            “Maybe not run a mile in.  But if he wants to start practicing martial arts again, or take up some other athletics, that’s the kind of thing he’ll need,” said Kaminaga. 

            Jitsui considered this, then nodded.  “You’re right.

            “I’ve been meaning to ask, but is it alright if I spar with him?” asked Kaminaga.

            “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Jitsui quickly.

            “Maybe not, but it’s kind of necessary,” said Kaminaga.  “We need to know how much control he has, and if fighting’s going to trigger flashbacks or something.  Better that we learn in a controlled environment rather than the first time someone, oh, I don’t know, spills hot coffee on you, or something.”  In his mind, Kaminaga could see Hatano interpreting scalding coffee being spilled on Jitsui as a threat against his life, and going on a rampage.  Starbucks would never again be the same.  “Besides, you’re planning on having him be an enforcer when he’s old enough, right?  There’s no sense in letting him lose his edge.”

            “I’ll talk with him, and Miyoshi and Yuuki-san about it,” said Jitsui at last.  “But if he doesn’t want to, I’m not going to make him.”

            Kaminaga had the feeling that if Hatano wanted to live a normal life, outside of D-Agency, outside of organized crime, Jitsui would see to it that he got to.  And Kaminaga would back him up, if that was the case.  But he knew it wouldn’t be.  As long as Jitsui was involved in D-Agency’s shadier side, Hatano would follow him into that life, like a faithful little puppy.  And his skills ensured he would thrive there.  Kaminaga thought that he might as well make sure Hatano was prepared for it.  Jitsui might not like Kaminaga even thinking this, but Kaminaga was starting to see Hatano as something like a little brother.  He couldn’t help wanting to watch out for the kid, anymore than he could help wanting to spoil him rotten. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Meals down on Sublevel D were a very informal affair.  With their varying schedules, trying to coordinate regular dinners was nearly impossible.  Mostly people just ate whenever they felt like it, often grabbing premade food from one of the numerous restaurants in the casino, or putting something together for themselves with whatever food they had bought for themselves the last time they went grocery shopping.  Fukumoto was the only one of them who cooked full meals on a regular basis, for anyone who wanted to come/was available.  Usually at the beginning of the week, he wrote a schedule of when he’d be cooking on the dry erase board on the fridge.  More often than not, everyone who wasn’t working during those times showed up.  Those were where they saw the most of each other.  Even Yuuki deigned to come at least once a week.  Miyoshi showed up much more often, and that night was no exception.

            Hatano had become Fukumoto’s faithful little helper in the kitchen.  Jitsui had fretted when he first started handling knives to chop vegetables and such, but Hatano had proven himself capable and dexterous, and very determined to pull his own weight, helping out wherever he could.  Kaminaga had managed to have a little fun with that, getting Hatano to do all his dishes, or run his errands for him until Jitsui found out and put Kaminaga in a chokehold.  Kaminaga still didn’t see what the big deal had been, since Hatano clearly liked being helpful.  Nor did he see how having Hatano be Fukumoto’s kitchen slave was that different, but apparently it was. 

            Hatano was wearing the apron Fukumoto had given him, when Miyoshi first joined them, in the kitchen.  He smiled at the sight of the boy, happily whisking away at the salad dressing ingredients.  Kaminaga smirked at the knowledge of what was to come.

            “Hello, Hatano,” Miyoshi greeted the kid politely, as he always did.

            “Good morning, Miyoshi,” Hatano replied, beaming.

            “Good morning.  What are you making there?”

            “Raspberry vinaigrette dressing,” said Hatano brightly.  “For the salad I made.”

            “That sounds excellent,” said Miyoshi, patting the top of his head as he walked by.

            “You finished with it, Hatano?” asked Kaminaga.

            “Mm.”

            “Then why don’t you take off that apron?”

            “Okay!” 

            Hatano peeled off his apron and Kaminaga watched as Miyoshi got his first glimpse of the Nine-eighty shirt the kid was wearing.  A look of great distaste crossed Miyoshi’s aristocratic features.  But when Hatano started to turn toward him, he quickly smoothed that look away.

            “Oh!  Kaminaga said to show you my shirt,” said Hatano, smiling at Miyoshi.  “He said it was just the kind of thing you’d like.”

            “Oh?  Did he now?” Miyoshi asked pleasantly.  But the lightning quick look he gave Kaminaga promised pain.

            “Don’t you like his shirt?” asked Jitsui.  Or rather than asked, he more of purred it.  Kaminaga smirked.  Things always went better when Jitsui got in on jokes.  And if Miyoshi’s look had been promising pain, Jitsui’s promised death if Miyoshi dared to do or say anything that would upset Hatano.

            Miyoshi glowered at them over Hatano’s head.  But then he smiled down at Hatano.  “I like it very much,” he said, acting so well that only someone who really knew him the way the men who’d been in D-Agency longer had, would know that he was lying through his teeth. 

            “It looks good on him, doesn’t it?” added Tazaki.

            “Very,” Miyoshi said, voice clipped.

            “It’s kind of big on me,” said Hatano, tugging at the sleeve to straighten the shirt, since it seemed to be threatening to slide too far to the other side.  “But that just means I’ll be able to wear it a lot longer.  Mama always used to buy my clothes big too because she said I’d grow into them.”

            Miyoshi’s eyebrow twitched.  No doubt he was trying to calculate just how long Hatano might be able to wear that shirt, and realizing that it was impossible to calculate.  They had no idea how tall Hatano might get, or how fast he’d be able to grow.  Right now he was just really tiny.  And they knew that was probably from a combination of genetics and malnutrition.  But even though they had him on a healthy Fukumoto and Jitsui approved diet, chalk full of vegetables and milk, there was no guarantee that the damage that had been done to him by malnutrition could completely be erased.  They would try, obviously, but chances were high that Hatano would never be as tall as he should have been.  Which meant, on a happier note, that he might never outgrow his Nine-eighty shirt.  Especially if he was genetically predisposed to be short.  Jitsui was full grown, or nearly so, and that shirt would have been about a perfect fit on him.  With luck, Hatano would never outgrow it.  Then he could wear it to grate on Miyoshi’s aesthetic nerves for years to come!

            “Well,” said Miyoshi, “don’t feel like you have to wear it that long.  We can get you clothes that fit you perfectly.  I think that would be much better, don’t you?”

            Hatano’s eyes went huge and watery.  “But . . . but Kaminaga gave it to me.”

            Miyoshi nearly recoiled from those puppy dog eyes.   “Well . . . of course you may wear it if you like,” he said, then gave Kaminaga a carefully blank look.  One that Kaminaga knew to be an oath of revenge.

            He smirked back, making his message clear.  Bring it on.

            “I like it a lot,” said Hatano, puppy dog eyes gone. 

            His obvious sincerity and happiness tempered Miyoshi’s annoyance, and he smiled down at Hatano again.  “Well . . . I’m glad.  I’m pleased it makes you happy.”

            Hatano beamed up at him sweetly, then spun away to take the bowl of dressing to the counter, where Fukumoto had set out a serving dish for it.  As he turned, he met Kaminaga’s eyes squarely.  And for just a second, his sweet smile morphed into a cheeky smirk.  And he winked.

            Kaminaga’s smile grew at the realization that Hatano had known what he was up to the whole time.  And he’d played along.  And he’d done it so perfectly that Miyoshi hadn’t suspected a thing.  Even Kaminaga hadn’t suspected he was in on the joke.  But he was. 

            You cheeky little thing, you, Kaminaga thought, watching as Hatano grinned at Fukumoto, in response to a compliment about the appearance of his salad dressing.  You definitely belong here.

 

Notes: This chapter was written as a gift for Aoi_Kitsukawa who requested "how the other 4 onii-samas bought those silly T-shirts much to Miyoshi's chagrin."  I wrote her this chapter in return for the fancomic she drew me awhile back. (the one where Jitsui trolls Miyoshi about Sakuma's relationship with Alain)  I hope you liked it Aoi!

 

In further notes, I'm back from my hiatus!  Please look forward to new updates and fics in the coming days and weeks. :)

 

 


	15. Tazaki's Arc: Part 1

            Johann Banner marveled at the difference just crossing a threshold could make, as he stepped into D-Agency Hotel and Casino.  Whenever he came here, he always felt like he’d been transported through time.  Back to an era where whiskey flowed freely and jazz bands were the height of coolness.  It was a clever, well thought out illusion.  But it was just an illusion.  D-Agency capitalized on nostalgia for an era that had been much less civilized than people liked to remember.  But that incivility was something Johann could never forget. 

            He didn’t like coming here to D-Agency, where all the décor was so steeped in memories of that bygone era that was best left as a bygone era.  Normally, when he needed to see Tazaki he arranged for them to meet elsewhere.  Even though here at D-Agency, there was always the chance he could catch a glimpse of Tazaki’s gorgeous boss . . . no, he was here on business.  No time to think about that.  The reason he was here was that time was of the essence.  There was no time to be distracted by thoughts of –

            “Miyoshi!”

            The name was familiar.  The voice was not.  Johann turned and looked around despite himself, and quickly zeroed in on the speaker.  And the one he was speaking to.  The one Johann had been trying not to think about.  Miyoshi.  Dressed to kill, in a chocolate-brown suit, garnished with a wine-colored tie and pocket square that brought out the red highlights of his hair.  Miyoshi was smiling gently at the one who’d called out to him, a taller Asian or mostly-Asian man with steel blue eyes and black hair, wearing a dark blue suit, and a casino ID badge showing he worked there.

            “Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi greeted.  “I hope your flight home went well.”

            “It did.  The flight to France as well,” said Sakuma, looking annoyed for some reason.  “A bit too well.  Maybe you can tell me how my coach tickets with two layovers on the way there, and three on the way home magically got upgraded to nonstop first class tickets?”

            “I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” said Miyoshi.  “Not with complete certainty.  But if I had to guess . . . I’d say Jitsui had something to do with it.”

            “Not you?” Sakuma asked, still looking annoyed.  Something Miyoshi picked up on.

            “Why are you annoyed about this, Detective?  Aren’t nonstop and first class good things?”

            “Not when it can make me look like I’m on the take,” said Sakuma, lowering his voice to the point Johann could barely hear him, and Johann suddenly got the feeling that this was a very bad conversation to be eavesdropping on.  This was clearly one of those mafia conversations that no sane person should be listening in on.  He quickly turned and started walking away.

            “I’m sure Jitsui set it up so that it looked like a computer glitch.  The system thinking you were a platinum member of that airline or some such,” said Miyoshi, sounding unconcerned.  “He thinks to do things like that.  He’s trying to take care of you, Detective.”

            Sakuma sounded like he was relenting a bit when he spoke next.  Or maybe it just sounded that way because Johann was so far away.  “I would have thought he’d have his hands full . . .  How is Hatano doing?”

            How Hatano, whoever that was, was doing, Johann did not hear.  He continued down the hallway, out of hearing distance, making a beeline to the auditorium where the Astonishing Tazaki was in the middle of a show. 

            Actually, the show was close enough to its end that Johann was able to sneak in without being stopped by a guard for not having a ticket.  He found an empty seat in the back, and watched Tazaki do an amazing trick, where he conjured fire from his fingertips, in the shape of a giant bird, whose wingspan had to be at least twenty feet.  It would have been more impressive if he’d picked a more streamlined bird like an eagle, or some form of the phoenix from mythology instead of a pigeon.  But the audience still went wild.  It really was an amazing trick, and Johann couldn’t even start guessing how Tazaki pulled it off. 

            The show continued another twenty minutes, with Tazaki performing marvel after marvel, finally performing his finale, taking his bow to a standing ovation, and then disappearing from the stage in a swarm of pigeons, which flew to the back of the room, where he reappeared and bid them farewell, staying at the door to shake hands, sign bras, and conjure flowers out of thin air for old ladies, and palmed sized stuffed pigeons for children, as his audience left.

            “An impressive show,” Johann said, standing once the last chatty woman had left and they could speak in private.

            Tazaki smiled at Johann wryly, then stood with one arm tucked behind his back and one hand held outward, impersonating a train conductor.  “Ticket inspection.”

            “I never paid to watch you make a fool of yourself back in college,” Johann said, smiling.  “I’m not about to start now, Reiji.”

            “Tazaki.  Unless you want me to call you Johann Bau –”

            “Please don’t,” said Johann quickly.  Then added, as a show of good faith, “Tazaki.”

            Tazaki’s smile dimmed slightly.  “You know . . . I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of Johann.  You’re not your grandfather.”

            “I know.  I’ve made it my life’s work to undo his,” Johann said, wishing that they hadn’t gotten on this topic . . . even though what they were talking about now was connected to his reason for being here.  “But his name never should have been passed on.  There’s no honor in being named after any Nazi, let alone one who looted countless treasures from people who couldn’t fight back.”

            Tazaki shrugged slightly.  “I won’t pretend that I have any idea what that feels like.  But I think you’ve done well, whatever you want to call yourself.  I’m proud to call you my friend.  Though I have a feeling you’re not here just because you want to grab a couple drinks, since I know you hate this place.  So, what can I do for you?”

 

* * *

 

 

            “It’s a work by Van Gogh,” Johann said, sliding the file containing the painting’s provenances to Tazaki as they waited for their drinks, in a corner of an old timey bar in D-Agency.  “Sunflower Fields.  It’s small, but it’s a genuine Van Gogh, which means both that it’s worth a fortune, and no one can even predict what it will go for at auction.  A conservative estimate has been put at 23 million American dollars.  But it rightfully belongs to an old woman who survived Auschwitz and is living in Vancouver.  Her grandfather gave it to her parents as a wedding present.  Meaning that to her, it’s priceless.  My grandfather stole it from her father in the late 1930s.”

            “So who are we stealing it back from?” asked Tazaki.  Because there was really only one reason his old friend from college would come to see him about something like this.

            “You might want to hear all the specifics before you commit to this,” said Johann.

            “Johann, how long have we known each other?”

            “It’s at an auction house here in Las Vegas.”

            “So I have the home field advantage,” said Tazaki.

            “We’d be stealing it in the city where you live, where you’re known, and where the police are already gunning for you,” said Johann.  “You should at least think over the risks before deciding you’re in.”

            A shadow fell over them, making Johann jump.  Tazaki smirked as Fukumoto nonchalantly placed their drinks on the table.  “Thanks, Fukumoto,” he said.

            Johann gave a sideways look at Fukumoto, distrustingly.

            “You don’t have to worry about Fukumoto,” Tazaki assured his friend.  “He’s one of my roommates.”  Which was more or less code for a member of D-Agency’s inner circle.  But unfortunately, it didn’t seem to do anything to put Johann’s mind at ease.  His preconceived imaginings of people involved in organized crime made him a little biased.  Tazaki was only exempt because he and Johann had been friends before he’d become a career criminal. 

            “Let me know if you need anything else,” said Fukumoto placidly, seeming unconcerned by Johann, who was still cringing away from him. 

            Still, Tazaki slapped Johann’s elbow after Fukumoto walked away.  “Don’t be rude.  You know you don’t have anything to fear from any of my friends.  You know that.”

            “Yeah.  I do know.  I just can’t . . . easily cope with the fact that they’re violent criminals.”

            “And good men,” said Tazaki.  “You don’t want to know what this city would be like right now without them.”

            His mind went to a dark place for a moment.  It had been three weeks since that fucking mess with Oikawa all boiled over.  That first week it had been all over the local news.  At first the Metro tried to sweep it under the rug as much as they could, but before Yuuki-san even had to give the word, all the juicy details of the incident were leaked to the press.  Specifically, to one Aaron Price.  A nosy, but honest journalist known for cracking open stories like this one.  Sakuma had denied being the one to give Price the file, and he had looked like he was telling the truth when he said that.  He didn’t even seem to know who Aaron Price was.  But he’d also looked like he knew a little something about the leak.  So D-Agency had concluded that Sakuma’s handler Detective Honma had been the one who made it happen.  It was good to know there were still a few cops in the Metro who could be counted on to do the right thing.

            The evidence against the many cops who hadn’t done the right thing was still being mentioned daily.  That first week it had even made national news.  Now it was dying down a bit, but pressure was still on at the local level.  Last Tazaki had heard, the state police were getting involved in investigating how the Metro had let that happen.  As well they should.  Just thinking about what they’d covered up and facilitated made Tazaki sick to his stomach.  Even if the kid who was practically his little brother hadn’t nearly become another of Oikawa’s victims, it was still unbelievable with what the Metro had let that sick freak get away with.  And people called D-Agency the bad guys?

            “Anyway,” he said, just to rile Johann up, “aren’t you still in love with Miyoshi?”

            Johann’s entire face went red.  “No.”

            “But you did date him.”

            “One time – No that wasn’t a date!  Not really!”

            “Uh huh.”

            Johann took a long drink of his cocktail then glared at Tazaki, still blushing.  “Let’s get back to business.”

            “You know we might need to ask for Miyoshi’s help on this, right?” pointed out Tazaki, enjoying himself now.

            Johann spluttered.  “What?”

            “Miyoshi’s very into art.  You know that.  He’s got a lot of contacts in art world, especially on the local scene,” said Tazaki.  “He should be able to get us into the auction house so we can case the place.”

            “I doubt they’ll let me in,” said Johann.  “They know who I am.  I’ve tried to get the painting returned to its rightful owner through the proper legal channels.”  And Johann had a reputation.  Where he went, looted Nazi artwork tended to get restituted whether his legal appeals worked or not.  They were never able to pin anything on him.  All evidence against him was always circumstantial.  Mainly because Johann himself didn’t steal the artwork.  Making things disappear had always been Tazaki’s specialty. 

            “Oh, they’ll let you in if you go as Miyoshi’s date,” said Tazaki.  “They wouldn’t dare to refuse him anything.”

            “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Johann quickly.

            “Of course it will.  First rule of misdirection.  You give the audience something shiny to look at,” said Tazaki, very much enjoying himself.  “There’s a reason that magicians always have beautiful assistants, you know.”

            Johann tried to figure out something to say.  His mouth went open and shut a few times as he tried to.  Finally, he just shook his head.  “Are you saying that Miyoshi’s going to be the beautiful assistant?”

            Tazaki smirked again.  “Your words, not mine.”

            “No, I didn’t –”

            “Relax.  I mean it, Johann.  We’re not going to get through this if you can’t get yourself under control,” said Tazaki.  “Start by accepting that Miyoshi’s help might be necessary.  Take tonight to wrap your head around it.  And I will take these provenances, and your preliminary research, and start doing some of my own, alright?  Alright.”

 

* * *

 

 

            After getting rid of Johann, Tazaki went down to Sublevel D.  Make no mistake, he liked Johann.  The other man was his longtime friend.  And a good man.  And Tazaki had nothing but respect for Johann’s mission.  But Johann was definitely not suited for a life of crime, and sometimes he could be too high strung for Tazaki to get any work done when he was around.  Right now was one of those times.  Besides, Tazaki really did work best when he was at home.

            He took the file Johann had given him to the kitchen, correctly predicting it would be empty at this hour.  With Fukumoto on duty, no one else was likely to be cooking.  And Tazaki’s final show of the evening being over meant that most of the others were in the middle of their shifts.  So Tazaki was able to spread out Johann’s information on the big table, put on his reading glasses, and go over the information under the bright, sunny kitchen lights.  While drinking a glass of scotch. 

            He started with the provenances for the painting, wanting to learn everything about Sunflower Fields that he could.  The painting’s history was a grim but familiar story.  Seized by Nazis from its rightful owners.  Displayed in a mock museum, meant to belittle non-Aryan artists’ works.  Reclaimed by the Allied powers after the war in Europe ended, and some years later, given back to the German government, along with a bunch of other pieces of art, on the condition that the German government make attempts at tracking down those pieces’ rightful owners and returning them.  Tazaki shook his head.  The post-war Allies had put their faith in the wrong organizations.  Because rather than try to return the paintings, they were hung in museums.  “Temporary homes” for the artwork, while the government allegedly tried to track down its true owners.  In reality, just a temporary home for them until the Allies forgot about them.  Then the paintings were auctioned off at discounted prices, in private auctions.  Many ended up back in the hands of high ranking Nazi families.  The Goering family.  The Streichers.  Or in the case of Sunflower Fields, the von Schirach family.

            Johann’s research traced Sunflower Fields from the von Schirach family to a private collector in New York, after the von Schirach’s later auctioned it off at the end of the Cold War.  From there, it had been used as collateral for a gambling debt incurred in Vegas, which was how it had ended up in Nevada.  And last year, its most recent owner had passed away.  As per his heirs wishes, it was to be auctioned off in two weeks time with the rest of his estate, the money to be split amongst them.  Which brought Tazaki to the auction house –

            “Its security system is much better than average, but nothing I can’t crack for you,” Jitsui commented, at Tazaki’s elbow, making him jump and drop the photograph he’d just picked up.

            “And I see three ways into the building that I wouldn’t need climbing gear for,” said Hatano, his voice still a little more subdued than anyone would like, but not nearly as soft and defeated as it had been last month.  “One of them you could probably even use.”

            “You two,” said Tazaki, recovering from being startled.  It was like a game amongst the more dangerous members of D-Agency.  Sneaking up on each other.  Most of them were too stealthy for everyone else’s good.  Someday one of them was going to give someone a heart attack.  Unintentionally.  The times Kaminaga had stealthily given his targets lethal injections notwithstanding.  But Tazaki wasn’t actually upset with them right now.  Especially not right now, actually.  He’d been planning to go to Jitsui to get his opinion on the security system anyway.  And it was good to see Hatano looking so much better these days.

            “Sorry,” said Hatano, actually looking contrite.  Probably remembering the last time he’d been scared, Tazaki realized darkly.

            “Don’t be sorry,” he said quickly, reaching out to ruffle the teen’s hair.  “Pull up a chair.  Tell me how you’d get into the auction house if you were me.”

            No chairs actually needed to be pulled up.  There were plenty around the table as it was.  But the distraction worked.  Hatano glanced at Jitsui, as though for permission, then sat down beside Tazaki when Jitsui smiled encouragingly, and accepted the tablet Jitsui placed in his hands.

            It spoke of their stealth skills that while he’d been sitting here reading, Jitsui had been hacking behind his back.  He’d found the blueprints for Silver Star Auctions’ Vegas based auction house somewhere online, and had given them to Hatano to look over before the two revealed themselves.  Now Hatano used them, and the surveillance photographs of the auction house Johann had taken, that were on the table to show Tazaki how one could enter the building, with the use of parkour or just good bare handed climbing skills. 

            “Air vent opening here is just big enough for me to fit through.  But you wouldn’t be able to.  But that would be the best one for me, because these vents span all four floors of the building.  For me they’d be the same as service halls,” Hatano said, pointing it out on both the blueprints and the photos.  “Another entrance I could use is right here.  This third floor window is accessible if you climb vertically here at the corner, then use these decorative bricks jutting out as handholds to support your weight and . . . I don’t know the word for it?  What’s the word for climbing sideways while you’re hanging by your arms?”

            Jitsui and Tazaki exchanged glances.  If there was a word for that, neither of them knew it.

            “Painful,” Tazaki said finally.

            “Well, if you climbed sideways hanging by your arms, using these bricks as handholds, you could get in through this window.  Or at least I could,” said Hatano.

            “I don’t think I could pull that off,” admitted Tazaki.  He could see the handholds Hatano was talking about, but he knew better than to think he could use them.  They were way too narrow.  What Hatano was talking about was essentially gripping them with his fingertips.  Hanging from his fingertips.  And maneuvering himself sideways a good ten feet to the nearest window.  On the third floor.  All the windows on the bottom floors were covered by bars for security.  But the windows on the third and fourth floors were left uncovered.  Either for aesthetics or because the auction house didn’t deem them viable points of entry and decided to save themselves the expense. 

            “Probably not,” said Hatano.  “But I could.”  Not bragging.  Just stating a fact.  The martial arts prodigy could do many things that no one else in D-Agency had a prayer of pulling off.  Only Kaminaga could keep up with him when it came to crazy physical feats, but even he didn’t dare try many of the things Hatano would do without thinking.

            “You probably could.  But you won’t,” said Jitsui, looking worried at the turn the conversation was taking.  He gave Tazaki a warning look.

            “What’s the last way?” Tazaki asked.  “You said there were three?  And one that even I could do?”

            “Balcony,” said Hatano, pointing at a photograph of the back of the building.  “Fourth floor.  Climb all the way onto the roof, and just drop down onto it.  Easy.”

            “Next time start with that,” said Tazaki. 

            “I don’t understand why they have such big doors here,” said Hatano, pointing to the balcony.  And the balcony below it.

            “Probably to move heavy things from the fourth and third floors via crane,” said Tazaki, making a mental note to keep that in mind.  Cranes had long been a staple of stage magic.  And what was a good heist but an elaborate disappearing trick?  If there was a crane handy, on the premise, it might prove useful.  Or he might come up with something else entirely.  There were many factors to consider.  And he would have to see where the painting was actually being kept before he could make any real plans. 

            “Why not just keep heavy things on the ground floor?” asked Hatano.  “Are they stupid?”

            “Probably,” said Tazaki.

            “What exactly are we stealing?” asked Jitsui.  He picked up the picture of Sunflower Fields.  “This?”

            “Yes.  But I don’t remember asking for your help,” said Tazaki, amused.

            “But you were planning on it,” said Jitsui, smirking.  “I’m just saving you the trouble.”

            “It’s pretty,” said Hatano, leaning closer to Jitsui to see the picture. 

            “It’s a Van Gogh?” Jitsui asked.

            Tazaki nodded and looked around for the provenances, which he passed to Jitsui.  “Looted by the Nazis during World War II.  In need of being returned to its rightful owner.”

            “Then why didn’t someone just give it back after the Nazis were defeated?” asked Hatano, looking confused.

            “Why indeed,” murmured Miyoshi, right over Tazaki’s shoulder, making Tazaki spill his scotch.

            “Ah!  Dammit Miyoshi.” Tazaki looked frantically for a napkin so he could blot the alcohol off Johann’s research.  Miyoshi smirked and removed his pocket square from his breast pocket.  Tazaki took the handkerchief and started wiping up the mess.

            “You weren’t with us the last time Tazaki ventured into the world of art restitution, were you, Hatano?” asked Miyoshi.

            “He was,” answered Jitsui, “He’d been with us just over a year at the time.  But Yuuki-san had taken him to Atlantic City as part of his security detail.  So he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

            “Oh, right.  I remember now,” said Miyoshi.  He sat down to join them.  “Well, I think an impromptu history lesson is in order.  Your tutors taught you about World War II, yes?”

            Hatano nodded.

            “I’m sure they did their best.  But so much happened during that war, it’s inevitable that most of it gets left out of any given curriculum,” said Miyoshi.  “One of the things that they don’t generally give space to in text book is about the Nazi regime’s kleptomaniac tendencies.  Anything owned by a Jew was fair game.  Any art created by non-Aryan artists was fair game.  They could and did take whatever they wanted.  Jewelry.  Gold.  Heirlooms.  Artwork.  They were able to steal with impunity, and when the war was over, it was very difficult to determine what belonged to whom.  So many of the original owners were dead.  The ones still alive often didn’t know where their treasures had ended up.  Or have any proof of ownership of them.  Which many laws about art restitution require before an appeal to have the work returned can be made.”

            “But doesn’t this one have that?” asked Hatano.  He pointed at a copy of an old black and white photograph mixed in amongst the other papers.  One showing a woman in a wedding dress, holding the small Sunflower Fields painting in her arms, and smiling brightly at the camera.

            “Even if they have proof of ownership, it’s still very hard to get the art back to them,” said Tazaki.  “There is no one international law that says stolen artwork has to be returned to you if you have proof the Nazis stole it.  Every country in Europe has their own law about it, all with their own loopholes.  And in the US, the law varies from state to state about it.  It’s bullshit.  And everyone knows it’s wrong.  But no one does anything about it.”

            A smirk crossed Hatano’s face.  “You mean almost no one.”

            Tazaki smirked back.  “Yes.  That’s what I mean.  Almost no one.”

            “I guess we’re stuck being heroes of justice twice in a row,” said Hatano.  Trying to make light of what he’d recently been through.  He and several of the others had been portrayed, by the media, as the heroes who stopped a powerful, rich serial killer, right alongside Alain Lernier.  Hatano’s expression wavered a little bit.  But he was trying so hard to get past it.  That alone was admirable.  Tazaki was struck with the urge to hug him.  An urge which he suppressed, knowing it would only embarrass him with everyone right there.  But Jitsui, who could get away with anything, reached out to pat Hatano on the head.

            “You are aware that no matter how you approach this, if you succeed it’s going to cause a very big commotion,” Miyoshi informed Tazaki.

            “I know.  I was thinking we could try to deflect –”

            “No,” said Miyoshi, smirking deviously.  “Own it.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Quite,” said Miyoshi.

            Tazaki only hesistated a moment more, then nodded.  “If you’re sure.”

            “Trust me,” said Miyoshi, his eyes glinting cruelly.  “I have a plan.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: And so Tazaki’s Arc begins. :)  And right now all the other boys in the kitchen are smirking too, because when Miyoshi smirks like that, it’s contagious.  It means someone’s getting screwed over because of them.  Someone who deserves it.  Just who that is will be revealed in time.  And Johann Banner is supposed to be Johann Bauer, by the way.  Just in case there was any confusion.  This AU’s version of him is an openly gay German-American who changed his last name to avoid any association with his Nazi grandfather.  He and Tazaki were friends in college, before Tazaki dropped out, and they remained friends afterward, with Tazaki going on to become a stage magician/suspected thief (No one’s ever proven anything!) and Johann going on to become a lawyer specializing in art restitution.

 

            Sunflower Fields is a fictional painting, but the details about Nazi art theft during WWII in this fic are real.  Several movies dealing with the subject have come out in the past few years; _Monuments Men_ and _Woman in Gold_ being the first two that come to my mind, if you’re interested in watching some real life stories made into movies about it.  Or for further reading I recommend _Lost Lives, Lost Art_ by Melissa Müller and Monika Tatzkow. 

 

            This arc marks my first attempt at writing a heist story.  So updates will probably be a little slower than they were for the last arc because I want to do my best to get this right.  I’m kind of feeling like I’ve bitten off a little more than I can chew now that I’m getting started, lol.  But I’ll do my best.  :)

 

            And one final thing!  I’ve got some new fan art for this fic, from Hatano’s Origin Chapter.  Tivanny has drawn this adorable picture of kid!Hatano drinking milk, while Jitsui looks on approvingly.  With the giant hammerhead shark plushy he bought for his baby spread across both their laps: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/150074013076>

 

            And I found this mini comic on michie-chan’s blog over on tumblr (I hope you’re alright with me posting a link to it right here) of kid!Hatano with another hammerhead plushy, being unbearably cute!  Like dangerously cute.  Like Sakuma might write him a citation cute, because being that cute can’t possibly be legal: <http://michie-chan.tumblr.com/post/149217751673/what-happened-to-dont-die-dont-kill-from-the>

            Thank you both for the wonderful pictures!


	16. Tazaki's Arc: Part 2

            “Timing,” Tazaki muttered as he scribbled notes late into the night.  “Planning, preparation, prestige.  But most of all timing.”

            If people in general had one misconception about magic in common, it was that magic was easy.  It wasn’t.  Magic was freaking hard.  A simple sleight of hand trick required hours and hours of practice to master.  And that was one of the safer tricks, provided you weren’t using it to pick pocket especially dangerous people.  Some tricks, like fire breathing, carried great risks to learn.  And that was before you even considered the materials they used for it.  Some people poisoned themselves in the name of the art, shortening their lifespan every time they performed that trick.  And then there were the famous death defying acts.  Escaping from death traps.  Something that the rest of D-Agency hated and Tazaki had stopped performing in D-Agency, out of respect for their wishes.  And . . . after that first time a younger Hatano saw one of his shows and completely flipped out, thinking Tazaki was about to die.  Yes, that was mainly why Tazaki had stopped.  Regularly exposing a traumatized kid to that was needlessly cruel, and not worth what the act had added to his shows.  But that aside, learning how to pull those off took so much work.  Each one worked differently, and you had to plan for everything that could and did go wrong for them. 

            Every illusion, every trick and every routine performed on stage was the result of countless hours, sometimes even years of practice.  And they were performed in a controlled environment.

            Heists were essentially just magic tricks.  But ones performed only once.  In environments where any number of factors were outside your control.  Usually, without the countless hours of practice.  So, if you wanted to stay alive and out of jail, you had to be smart about it.  You had to prepare as much as you possibly could, and you had to do everything you could to turn every factor you could to your favor.  In other words, you had to cheat wherever you could.

            Heists, like magic, were all about tricking people. 

            “Timing is everything,” Tazaki murmured, as he snatched up another piece of paper and started scribbling out his timeline. 

            “Own it,” Miyoshi had said.  And he’d been smirking.  His contagious smirk.  The one he wore when a scheme was afoot.  One of his schemes, at least.  And he didn’t have all the details planned out, anymore than Tazaki had at the time.  But in the conversation that followed, his goals became clear.  What he wanted to incorporate into the heist became clear.  And it was brilliant.  And potentially game changing.

            “So in other words, make it flashy,” Tazaki had said at the end of Miyoshi’s explanation. 

            “The flashier, the better,” Miyoshi confirmed.  “Draw as much help from the rest of us as you need.  We have nothing better going on right now.”

            Which was true enough.  Things had been quiet for D-Agency the past three weeks.  With media attention on them, and Hatano sidelined from any major operations until approval was given by Yuuki or Miyoshi _and_ Jitsui, the men of D-Agency’s inner circle had been doing their best to stay under the radar.  Taking unnecessary risks when they were short staffed and needed to recover was frowned upon.  But now it seemed that the moratorium on risk taking was being lifted.  Tazaki still planned to avoid using Hatano in any major parts of the plan, even if it would have been easier to include him.  He doubted Jitsui would okay that, if he tried, but he had no desire to try.  Tazaki’s personal assessment was that Hatano, while much better than he had been, was still mentally too vulnerable.  Executing heists was too mentally taxing.  Right now, Hatano still needed to be protected.  Tazaki would let him in on the planning process, if he wanted, and even help with some of the preparations.  But when it came to pulling the theft off, he would be kept on the sidelines.  And he wasn’t the only one.

            “I think it would be best to leave the detective out of this venture, Miyoshi,” Tazaki had told his boss, while they were all sitting around the kitchen table together.  “I think he would be too conflicted by his duty if we tried to bring him in on it.”

            “He’d be helping return a priceless piece of artwork looted by Nazis to its rightful owner,” said Miyoshi, frowning.

            “He’d be stealing from a legitimate establishment, in the company of a bunch of career criminals,” said Tazaki.  “I’m not sure he’d approve.”

            “I don’t think he would betray us,” Jitsui had spoken up.

            “Neither do I.  But I don’t think we should put him in that position anyway,” Tazaki had said.  “This isn’t one of those corruption cases we went to the trouble of letting him infiltrate us to get his help with.  So this isn’t really covered by your agreement with him.  I still don’t think he’d betray us over it, but I’d like to avoid putting him in uncomfortable situations.  I don’t think he deserves that.  Not from us.”

            Miyoshi had seemed disappointed, but agreed to keep Sakuma out of any blatantly illegal dealings, in this matter.  Then Tazaki had shooed Miyoshi, Jitsui, and Hatano out, while he got down to some serious planning.

            Some things couldn’t be finalized yet.  They needed to do some in person surveying of the auction house.  Then some props would need to be made.  Some staging would need to be done too.  Tazaki had an idea for the trick he wanted to use.  A large scale illusion that would make it seem like he’d done something impossible.  He would need a good bit of help with this.  It would take tech, and technical savvy, artistic talent, someone with carpentry skills, and possibly someone who knew how to film a scene, in addition to whatever skills it would take to infiltrate the auction house and bypass its security system.  Luckily for Tazaki, he had all those skills in house.

            By the time Fukumoto ambled in, his shift finished, and preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast on his mind, Tazaki had the framework of his master plan all drawn out.  Some things still weren’t finalized in his mind, and he’d written out several possible ways they could be done.  Others were more or less the way he knew they’d be.  There were still a lot of minor details to iron out.  But he was ready for another set of eyes to look his work over.

            “Fukumoto?  Mind taking a look at this for me?” asked Tazaki, holding up the most condensed version of his plan’s framework.

            Fukumoto took a seat opposite him and accepted the papers.  “This is for the art heist you’re planning?”

            “Yeah.  Miyoshi told you?”

            “Yes.”  Fukumoto began reading it over, as Tazaki took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  How long had he been at this?  Fukumoto had mentioned most of his shifts ending around 2:00 AM this week.  Tazaki’s last show had ended around ten.  Factor in half an hour for his meeting with Johann . . . Three and a half hours?  No wonder he was so mentally drained.  Tazaki slumped over the table and rested his head in his hands.  He heard Fukumoto’s chair scoot back, then seconds later, he heard the refrigerator door open.  Then, seconds after that, he heard something made of glass set down on the table right next to him.  “Please eat this,” Fukumoto requested.

            Tazaki opened his eyes then perked up.  “Pudding!”  His stomach growled at the mere sight of it.

            Fukumoto smiled softly and poured him a glass of milk, then returned the carton to the refrigerator.  “Please make sure you take care of yourself.  Planning heists and stealing art takes a lot of energy.”

            “Yes,” Tazaki agreed, digging into Fukumoto’s homemade pudding, “they really do.”

            He ate as Fukumoto read over his plans.  Occasionally Fukumoto broke from reading to ask a question.  Was the timetable for this part set in stone, or did they have a little bit of leeway?  What sort of trick was he planning to incorporate with the swap?  It could be overly complicated.  Would the plan work without it?

            “I need something there,” Tazaki explained.  “Some prestige in the auction house, so that when my show is over, and they hear the rumors that I’ve stolen their painting, and they run to check, they’ll know, right there, that they’ve been had.  Something to clench it.”

            “If that’s true, then the only way to do that might be to have a second swap done right then and there.  Or to make it disappear altogether,” said Fukumoto.

            “But I don’t have the manpower for that right now,” said Tazaki.  “Normally, I’d agree with you.  And I’d want Hatano on sight for it.  He could snag it and hide in the vents for however long he needed to.  But right now I can’t ask him to do that.  He doesn’t even want to leave Sublevel D right now.  Whether he’ll admit it or not, he’s still really scared.”

            “And asking him to wait alone, in a vent, is just too much right now,” agreed Fukumoto. 

            “Yes.”

            “Perhaps instead of something that would reveal it, maybe something that would destroy it?” suggested Fukumoto.  “Rigging it with something that would start it burning, if it was picked up?”

            “That’s doable.  But if they pick it up ahead of schedule to move it, then the game is up,” said Tazaki dejectedly.  Then he perked up.  “But that gives me another idea!”

            He took the paper back from Fukumoto and scribbled out his new idea.  Fukumoto read it.  Then he smirked.

            “Good.”

            “Thank you.  And thank you for helping me come up with it.”

            “You came up with it on your own,” said Fukumoto.

            “But I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t mentioned fire,” said Tazaki.

            “Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  We should run this by Miyoshi to make certain that it is feasible.  And Jitsui, since half of it would be down to him too.  They would know best.”

            “Yes,” Tazaki agreed.  “They would.  Fingers crossed.”

            “Everything else looks viable,” said Fukumoto.  “But may I suggest incorporating something particularly nasty for this part with the package?  Something that will make the Metro’s name mud for interfering with it.”

            Tazaki folded his arms.  “What have you got in mind?”

            “I’ll make you a list,” said Fukumoto.

            “Have it to me by the time I wake up?”

            “Yes.”  Fukumoto smiled gently.  “So please get some sleep now.”

            “I will.  Thanks Fukumoto,” Tazaki said, and started gathering up his notes.

            “Sleep well.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The next morning, upon waking up, Tazaki found that Fukumoto, true to his word, had written out a list of ideas for how to make the Metro’s name mud for executing a certain search warrant, which they would, without question, execute in their investigation into the painting’s inevitable disappearance.  He smirked as he read some of Fukumoto’s suggestions.  No one would ever think by looking at him, but Fukumoto could be just plain nasty when he wanted.  Some of his ideas were really playing dirty.  So naturally, Tazaki decided to go with the very worst one.  He wrote that into his notes immediately.

            Also with the list of Fukumoto’s ideas, that the tallest man of D-Agency had slid under his door the previous night, was a notice.  Miyoshi had been informed by Fukumoto that Tazaki’s plans had reached the peer critiquing stage.  A full agency meeting was scheduled to be held . . . Tazaki glanced at his clock then his eyes widened.  In three minutes!

            He hastily stripped out of his pajamas and pulled on a pair of trousers and collared shirt.  He decided to forget a tie for now.  There was no time!  A full agency meeting meant that even Yuuki-san would be there, and Tazaki couldn’t be late.  He dragged a comb through his hair, checking his appearance in his mirror, then ran out his door, with his notes, but without socks.  Yuuki-san would care more if he was late than if he was barefoot.

            The hour was very early for at D-Agency, where they often worked late into the night.  His friends were all there already, most of them looking sleepy and bleary eyed.  Kaminaga actually was asleep, sprawled out and taking up a whole couch.  Hatano was curled up beside Jitsui on one of the loveseats, resting his head in Jitsui’s lap, as Jitsui absently petted his hair.  And drank coffee.  Everyone else also had some form of caffeine with them.  Even Yuuki-san.

            “Sorry!” said Tazaki as he skidded into the room.  “I just got the message we were having a meeting when I woke up just now!”

            “Are you prepared to present to us?” asked Miyoshi.  “I assumed you would be.  I should have spoken with you first, but I assumed time was of the essence.”

            “It is.  And I am.  Ready.”  Tazaki struggled to shake off panic over being late and collect his thoughts.  He was helped out by Fukumoto offering him a tall mug full of foamy cappuccino.  “Thank you.  You’re a lifesaver.”  He literally had no idea where he would be without Fukumoto.  Where any of them would be. 

            “There’s breakfast on the sideboard,” said Fukumoto, motioning toward the small buffet set up on one side of the lounge.  It was a short notice affair, so he hadn’t had a chance to prepare too much.  Just some muffins, the baked French toast he’d prepared the previous night before bed, and some sausages.  And more coffee.  It all looked positively ravenous.  But it would have to wait.

            “I’ll eat after I go over everything,” said Tazaki.

            Fukumoto gave him a look.

            “I will!  I promise!  I just can’t eat while I’m talking, can I?”

            “If you’re ready to begin?” prompted Yuuki, looking pointedly at the clock.

            “Yes!  I’m ready,” Tazaki said quickly.  He took a deep breath.  Then he launched into his spiel.  “There are two purposes to what I’m planning to do,” he said, deciding to start off listing his goals.  “The first, and the one most important to me, is to return a piece of artwork to a woman who had it stolen from her family during the Holocaust.  And who has been unable to get it returned to her, even though she has proof of ownership, because of a faulty system.” 

            Tazaki’s fist clenched, unconsciously, as he mentioned the system. 

            He really, really hated flawed systems.  Laws, rules, procedures, systems . . . they were meant to protect people.  That’s why they were put in place.  They were supposed to be strong enough to work correctly, or they had no right in even existing.  But far too often they failed the people they were meant to protect.  Or else they were just farces, and were never supposed to do any good to the average person at all.  But now was not the time for him to go off on an angry tirade about them.

            “The other, I’m sure Miyoshi has told you all by now,” Tazaki said, forcing himself to continue.  “If we pull this off, we give one lady the justice that she’s been denied since World War II.  And we stick it to one of our major adversaries at the same time.  So everyone wins, but him, which is a good day in my book.  So here’s what we’re going to do.

            “First, we get Mayor Gordon involved.  Or rather, Johann gets Mayor Gordon involved,” said Tazaki.  “That bit of the plan is already in motion.  He has a meeting scheduled with him for . . . tomorrow.”  It was tomorrow, wasn’t it?  Or the day after.  No, midnight had come and gone.  It had come and gone last night, while he was still awake.  So it was tomorrow that Johann’s notes mentioned his upcoming meeting with Gordon would take place.

            “Question,” spoke up Hatano, raising his hand.  “Why?  Why get him involved this early, I mean?  Aren’t we tipping our hand to him?”

            “Good question,” said Tazaki.  “But no, we’re not tipping our hand.  There’s no way for him to know what the second part of our game is.  No one outside this room knows it.  And it’s not something we’ll be speaking of outside of Sublevel D.  Johann is involving Gordon now because Gordon is one of the owners of Silver Star Auctions.  He is one of the few legal channels Johann has left to trying to stop the sale of the painting, and getting it returned to its rightful owner.  But we all know how low the odds are that Gordon will do the right thing.  And, I’ll be completely honest.  If he were to, I’d be disappointed.  Because I have an excellent plan to screw him over, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.  Now, here’s where we come in . . .”

            He began outlining his plan to the others, elaborating on the details he had ironed out, and taking suggestions for the ones that were still under consideration.  When he got to the problem that Fukumoto had inspired him to find a fix for last night, he checked with Miyoshi and Jitsui to make sure that what he had in mind for it was doable.

            “I can get the technological aspects of it to work,” promised Jitsui.  “It’ll be up to Miyoshi to make sure the technical aspects of it are right.  And that it sends the right message.”

            “The technical aspects will be no problem,” said Miyoshi.  He put one finger to his chin as he thought for a moment.  Then a sly smile crossed his face.  “And as for the other part, I have a plan.  I’ll need your help for it, Hatano.”

            “Me?” Hatano asked, eyes lighting.

            “You,” Miyoshi confirmed.

            “Wait a minute,” said Jitsui.

            “It will be alright,” promised Miyoshi.  To keep from embarrassing Hatano too much and making him feel like a child, Miyoshi didn’t speak more.  But you could tell what he wanted to say, just by looking in his eyes.  You know I’d never let any harm come to him.

            Jitsui only hesitated a moment longer, then nodded.

            “Yay!” Hatano cheered, sparking smiles on the faces of all the others.  Even Yuuki.  His untainted joy and enthusiasm after those few weeks of sadness and depression were like sunshine after a storm.  Tazaki paused for a moment, to let them all enjoy it.  Then he continued with the overview for his plan.

            Jitsui grew a bit less enthusiastic as Tazaki went on.  Not because of flaws with the plan.  More because of what Tazaki would be asking him to do.

            “You’re depending on me an awful lot,” he said tonelessly, “For a lot of different things.”

            “I know,” said Tazaki.  “And I’m sorry.  I’d split it up if I could and just leave the technical aspects to you, and get someone else for . . . the other stuff.  But there’s no one but you who could pull it off.  At least no one who I trust to.”

            “I could,” Hatano volunteered.

            “No,” said Tazaki.  “I did consider you, but you look too young for the part.  Otherwise, it would be you I would be asking.”

            That was a lie.  One that most likely every man there except Hatano had picked up on.  The real reason Hatano was wrong for the role was that he was too recognizable now.  His face had been in the media too much after the Oikawa incident.  Tazaki didn’t want anyone linking Hatano to this at all. 

            “You are going to owe me for this,” said Jitsui, to keep there from being a lull in the conversation that might let Hatano see through Tazaki’s lie.

            “I know,” said Tazaki.  “I’ll owe all of you for this.”

            “But me more than the others,” Jitsui insisted.

            “Yes.  I will,” Tazaki agreed.

            “Then we can continue.”

            And so Tazaki did.  Through to the end of his plan.  Ending with that last dirty trick that Fukumoto had suggested.  Everyone chuckled a bit when Tazaki went over that final touch. 

            Then Tazaki grabbed some food.  And he listened as the others brought up points that they thought were worthy of discussing, and tossed around ideas.  He answered questions when he had to.  Filled in more details when needed.  And agreed that a few of the changes the others proposed were for the better, and changed them in his notes. 

            “Well,” said Miyoshi, when they’d run out of problems to call out, and suggestions to discuss, “that seems like a plan.”

            “Yes,” Tazaki agreed.  “Thank you all.”

            “You came up with most of it,” said Miyoshi, brushing aside his thanks.  “And in the end, it will benefit all of us.”

            “Yes.  But I’m still grateful,” said Tazaki, needing to say it.  “I know that we wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so set on it.  I know that you’re going along with this for me, more than for screwing our adversaries over, or for seeing that justice is meted out in the art world.”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” said Miyoshi.  He stood and started walking casually toward the door.  “I’m a supporter of art restitution, you know.  But the fact remains, this works out for us all in the end.  Just get me copies of whatever pictures you have of the paining.  ASAP if you please.  I need to pick up some supplies if I’m to make believable forgeries of it, and I’d rather have most of them procured before I go and see the original in person.  That way I can get started immediately after returning home, while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

            “And when had you wanted to see it in person?” asked Kaminaga who, along with Amari, would be coming along.  Tazaki wanted the scene of their future crime to be gone over by the eyes of an assassin and a conman.  Jitsui would be there too, to start laying the groundwork for his machinations. 

            “How does tomorrow sound?  Directly after Mr. Banner’s meeting with the mayor?” suggested Miyoshi.  “No sense in wasting any time now, is there?”

            “None,” Kaminaga readily agreed.  “This is gonna be so much fun.”

            A smile slid across Tazaki’s face as he watched his friends all brighten.  Even Yuuki looked like he was in a good mood, though he’d been mostly silent throughout the discussion.  The buzzing energy filling the room was contagious.  Naturally.  After all, who didn’t love a good heist?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: Sorry for the lack of action in this chapter. ><  Hopefully the character interactions at least partially made up for that.  And I know that I left a whole lot of things vague.  But that’s because if I reveal the whole plan right when they’re planning it, I’ll have spoiled the whole plot, lol.  I’m trying to find a balance for how much to reveal, and when.  And since this is just the second chapter of the arc, I didn’t think I should give away much.  I watched a couple of heist movies in preparation for this arc, and found that normally in a heist movie, during the preparation part, there would normally be a montage with a voice over.  The mastermind explaining the plan while the others go around getting things ready or putting the plan into place.  But those techniques aren’t going to work here for the obvious reasons, lol, so I’m having to find an alternate approach.  I promise that more is going to be revealed and soon.  When they’re actually doing stuff, you’ll know for the most part what they’re doing.  Maybe not everything, and maybe not all the reasons why, but like next chapter, when Miyoshi is kicking up a huge fuss at the auction house, as Johann blushes furiously and tries to calm him down, and Sakuma stands by, scowling at the world in general, you’ll know that Miyoshi’s doing his best to cause a huge distraction. :P  Amongst other things.  (Like making Sakuma jealous.)  (And technically, Miyoshi’s not going back on the agreement not to involve Sakuma in this, because technically, when they’re just scoping out the auction house, they’re not doing anything illegal.)

 

And in the end, if I pull this off right, everything will make sense.  And there will still be some laughs and fun surprises for you all the way through. :)


	17. Tazaki's Arc: Part 3

            Johann fidgeted as he waited for his audience with Mayor Gordon.  His meeting.  Meeting with the mayor.  Calling it an audience made it seem like Gordon was a king or something.  Which he wasn’t.  He was just a man, like any other.  And Johann had faced far more intimidating men than the balding Las Vegas mayor.  He’d faced down former Nazi soldiers and war profiteers.  The only reason he was nervous right now was because he wasn’t used to wearing a wire.

            “Relax,” said Kaminaga.  He sat beside Johann in the waiting room, masquerading as a lawyer.  And Johann wasn’t sure why he was there.  Well yes, he knew that Kaminaga had some kind of camera built into his glasses, and that he would be filming the conversation with them, but Johann didn’t know why.  Nor did he know what Kaminaga’s real occupation was.  Tazaki hadn’t told him, and Kaminaga hadn’t spoken up about it either.  That gave Johann the strong feeling that he really didn’t want to know . . . but at the same time, not knowing was kind of an agony in and of itself.  Being around people in the mafia made him uneasy.  All of them except Tazaki, because he’d known Tazaki forever.  He worried about Tazaki, hanging around people he knew were violent criminals because Tazaki, at heart, was just a cinnamon roll.  He was a thief.  Not a murderer.  He didn’t go around knee capping people or breaking fingers either.  He didn’t belong with the men of D-Agency.  He was too gentle for that.

            Not for the first time, Johann wondered what he’d gotten himself into.  Tazaki said they’d be making the theft flashy this time.  But he hadn’t given Johann many details of it yet.  He knew why.  If something went wrong, Johann couldn’t rat him out, intentionally or otherwise, if he didn’t know the plan’s specifics.  Plus Tazaki was a magician as well as a thief.  He hated revealing the secrets behind his tricks.  He said it ruined the magic of it all.  And Johann was alright with that.  He usually had no idea how Tazaki pulled off an art heist, and the world usually had no idea that Tazaki was behind it.  Johann was the decoy, taking the heat of the investigation.  He’d even spent a couple nights in holding cells while the police tried to find enough evidence to pin the crimes on him, despite his airtight alibi.  That had been in the early days, however.  Before he learned to be across state lines and/or have another lawyer from his firm standing by, ready to act if so many hours went by without hearing from him.

            But all that aside, what did Tazaki mean about making this flashy? 

            “Seriously, Mr. Banner, relax,” said Kaminaga again.  “Fidgeting like you are is a tell.  It puts people on alert that you’re doing something you’re not supposed to.  There’s no need to tip our hand.”

            “Right,” muttered Johann.  There was also no need to get on the bad side of a dangerous career criminal.  He forced himself to hold still.

            “Don’t forget to breathe.  Breathing is good, Mr. Banner.  Not breathing will kill you, which is even worse than giving away tells.”

            Kaminaga sounded so cheerful and friendly.  It grated at Johann’s nerves.

            “I’m trying.”

            “I thought you’d done this before,” Kaminaga commented.  “Tazaki said the two of you were responsible for sixteen art heists.”

            “Fourteen,” corrected Johann.

            “No, he definitely said sixteen,” said Kaminaga.  Then he shrugged.  “Well, maybe those other two weren’t with you.”

            That thought was a little disturbing.  Johann hadn’t heart of any other Nazi looted art being mysteriously stolen, except the pieces he’d tipped Tazaki off to.  So what else had Tazaki been off stealing?

            “You seriously need to relax, Mr. Banner,” said Kaminaga.

            “I’m trying.”

            “Are you usually like this leading up to a heist?” asked Kaminaga.

            “No.”

            “So what makes this time different?” asked Kaminaga.  Then he seemed to realize.  “Is it me?  Am I what’s making you nervous?”

            “No,” Johann said quickly.  Too quickly.

            Kaminaga smiled wryly.  “You know I’m not going to do anything to you, right?”

            Johann stammered and tried to agree.

            “Tazaki’s pretty much my best friend.  I wouldn’t kill one of his friends unless they were taking enemy action against him.  Besides, you and I are working together now too.  It’s bad business to kill people you’ve been seen with in public.”

            So according to criminal logic he was safe?  Well, thank God for small favors.

            Before Johann could come up with a response for that, however, the waiting room door opened and one of Mayor Gordon’s secretaries stepped out.

            “Mr. Banner.  Mr. Nguyen.  Mayor Gordon will see you now.”

            That was another thing.  Kaminaga was using an alias.  And one with a non-Japanese last name.  In Vegas, at least in certain circles, all things Japanese brought D-Agency to mind.  Either D-Agency’s inner circle itself, or the multitudes of Japanese-American police officers the Metro had apparently recruited in their attempts to take D-Agency down.  Mayor Gordon was in one of those circles, and Tazaki and Kaminaga saw no reason to put him on alert. 

            They entered the mayor’s office, and Johann got his first in person look of Las Vegas’s mayor.  John Gordon was an older man, with thinning blond hair and rat-like blue eyes.  Maybe it was because Johann knew he was corrupt that he thought that.  Tazaki had mentioned the man on a number of occasions over the years.  D-Agency had apparently never liked Gordon.  Not even back in the days when D-Agency had just been founded and Gordon was only on the city council. 

            “Mr. Bauer.  I mean Banner,” said Gordon, giving him an oily smile.  “And Mr . . . I’m sorry, I thought this meeting was only with you Mr. Banner.”

            Originally it was.  But Johann was certain Gordon knew perfectly well that a Mr. Nguyen was there with him.  He secretary would have told him.  He was deliberately being crass and trying to bait them.

            “This is Mr. Ngyuen.  A lawyer from a firm with similar specialties to mine,” Johann lied smoothly.  Probably making Kaminaga do a mental jaw drop.  When it came to dealing with corporate scum, war profiteers, and men or women of similar ilk, Johann could and did stand firm.  It was just actual mafiosos he had a hard time dealing with. 

            “A pleasure to meet you both,” said Gordon, shaking both their hands.  “So.  What can I do for you?”

            “Please ignore my rudeness in getting straight to the point,” said Johann.  “But we would like for you to delay the auctioning of the Van Gogh painting Sunflower Fields, as it is currently the subject of an art restitution investigation.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “Well, that went well,” said Kaminaga, on their way out.

            Johann looked at him sideways.  “That went horribly.”

            He had been refused at every turn, his every argument shutdown.  Of course Gordon had been expecting him, and had time to prepare.  He’d probably had someone brief him on legal jargon so he sounded like he knew what he was talking about, as he listed all the reasons why he legally didn’t have to delay the auctioning off of the Nazi looted painting, moral reasons not withstanding.

            “If we’d actually been hoping he would delay the painting being auctioned off, then yeah, it would have gone horribly,” said Kaminaga.  “But what I wanted was footage of you calmly and earnestly appealing to him to halt the auction on the grounds of morality, and footage of him being a dick and refusing like the greedy corrupt piece of crap he is.  And I got exactly what I want.  So, good job!”

            “Oh.  Well . . . thank you,” said Johann in response to the compliments Kaminaga had paid him.  He was proud of himself for keeping his calm.  He didn’t always manage to, when he got into it with people who stood in his way during art restitution cases.  “But what exactly are you going to do with that footage?”

            “You’ll see in two weeks time,” promised Kaminaga.  “It’s part of our masterplan.”

            Suddenly, Johann wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. 

            A limo was waiting down on the street.  One that Kaminaga must have recognized, because he made a beeline for it.  Johann followed and got in after him.  And found himself in the presence of even more career criminals.

            Miyoshi was there.  The mere sight of him set Johann’s heart to pounding.  Miyoshi looked too good to be true, which Johann had long ago determined was his natural state.  He was dressed, as usual, in a suit.  Today’s was red-tinted brown, with a waistcoat a few shades darker, and a plain brown tie.  He also sported a pair of designer sunglasses today,

            Beside him was the tall man Johann had seen talking to Miyoshi yesterday.  Sakuma.  He was wearing a dark blue suit that was very similar to the one he’d worn yesterday.  Or might have been the same suit as yesterday, actually.  It was straight and neat, and nothing Johann saw suggested it was a suit being worn for the second day in a row, but he just had a feeling.  Sakuma was sitting beside Miyoshi, looking tense.  At the sight of Johann, he grew even more tense.  Johann glanced between Sakuma and Miyoshi and tried not to frown.

            “Hello, Mr. Banner,” Miyoshi greeted him.  “Kaminaga.  How did your meeting with our esteemed mayor go?”

            “Exactly as planned,” said Kaminaga cheerfully.  Then he put a hand to his head, gripped his hair, and pulled.

            Johann tried not to stare as the black wig Kaminaga had been wearing came off, revealing short, feathery brown hair beneath.  He’d had no idea that he hadn’t been seeing Kaminaga’s real hair before.  But as he watched, Kaminaga accepted a box from Miyoshi and pulled another wig out of it.  This one a lighter shade of brown than his natural hair, and cut and styled differently.  Seconds later, it was in place on Kaminaga’s head perfectly.

            “What’s going on, Miyoshi?” asked Sakuma as he eyed Kaminaga dubiously.

            “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Detective,” said Miyoshi tolerantly.

            “Kaminaga’s not disguising himself because he’s up to something innocent,” said Sakuma tersely. 

            “Maybe.  Maybe not.  But it’s hardly illegal to go somewhere in disguise, is it?” asked Miyoshi. 

            Kaminaga looked at Sakuma confused, then at Miyoshi.  “What’s he doing here?  I thought we agreed not to include him in this?”

            “So you are up to something illegal,” groaned Sakuma.

            Johann’s brow furrowed in confusion.  Why would a career criminal care if they were up to something illegal?  Unless Sakuma wasn’t one?  But then what was he?  Specifically, what was he to Miyoshi?

            “Not today, no,” said Miyoshi.  “We’ll be undertaking another endeavor of ambiguous morality soon enough.  But today is just an innocent outing.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Banner?”

            Johann had been briefed on this next step of the plan too.  As far as he understood it, Tazaki, Kaminaga, and one or two of D-Agency’s other inner circle members, would be perusing the auction house, posing as potential buyers at their upcoming auction.  Though in actuality, they would be casing the place.  Scoping out the best points of entry and what not, so they could return and steal the painting.  Johann and Miyoshi would be causing a distraction, so that the others would look less suspicious if they happened to linger near windows or pay more attention than they should to things like dumbwaiters or other possible points of egress.  If things worked out the way they were supposed to, all the security would be paying attention to Johann and Miyoshi instead.

            “We’re not doing anything illegal,” said Johann, answering Miyoshi’s question.  Then he blushed, as he recalled the cover story that Tazaki informed him he and Miyoshi would be using.

            “Miyoshi?  Where are my glasses?” asked Kaminaga.  He’d shed the pair he’d worn during the meeting with Mayor Gordon, and had them in his hand, but didn’t seem to be talking about those. 

            “Oh, right.  Here.”  Miyoshi produced a case and opened it to reveal another pair of glasses, very similar to the ones Kaminaga had been wearing.

            “Do I even want to know what the point of that is?” asked Sakuma.

            “Well, it’s nothing illegal, but you’re probably happier not knowing,” said Kaminaga as he swapped his glasses.  “Sorry, about this, Detective.”

            Johann, at least, could guess that the new glasses were for the same thing as the old ones.  For filming.  The old pair probably had low battery life, thus the need for a replacement pair now.  But why they were filming, Johann wasn’t sure.  Maybe to help them visualize the rooms better, to prepare for their heist?

            Kaminaga also shed his suit jacket and swapped out his shirt for a button down one made of black silk, then finally topped off his ensemble with a black beret.  He inspected his reflection in the window, then turned to Miyoshi.  “The beret, is it too much?”

            Miyoshi considered briefly, then nodded.  “A bit too much.”

            Kaminaga discarded the beret.  Then he gripped the car door.  When next the limo came to a stop at a traffic light, he gave them a light hearted wave.  “Gentlemen.  I will see you at the auction house.”  Then he hopped out of the car.  Leaving Johann alone with Miyoshi and Sakuma.

            For several minutes, there was only awkward silence in the back of the limo.  Johann looked around for a distraction.  Eventually his attention drifted to the glass partition separating the back of the limo from the driver.  Through it, Johann saw the bartender from last night.  Fukumoto.  And sitting next to him, turned so he was facing Fukumoto, so Johann could see the profile of his face, was a familiar looking teen.

            “That kid . . . where have I seen him before?” Johann asked, pointing, before he remembered that was rude.

            Miyoshi and Sakuma had been sitting with their backs to the limo’s front.  They twisted in their seats to see who he was pointing at.  Then Sakuma looked away, like he was a little irritated.  Miyoshi was the one who answered.

            “You might have seen his face in the news recently,” said Miyoshi.  “There was some unpleasantness that had to be dealt with.  He got tangled up in it.”

            Miyoshi’s expression had darkened.  That probably should have been a hint to Johann that this was something which should be left alone.  But he was distracted by his discomfort of career criminals, and couldn’t help but feel a small surge of protectiveness for this teen.

            “What is he doing here?  With you people?”

            “Well, every other member of our inner circle is playing some part in this recon mission, be it actually scouting out the auction house itself, or posing as a driver to help the others look the part,” said Miyoshi, his voice chilling over.  “My little brother up there hasn’t been feeling well, so I certainly wasn’t about to leave him at home by himself.  Plus it was mentioned to me by a certain someone that getting him out of the house would do him good.”

            “He needs sunlight, and changes of scenery,” said Sakuma, half scowling at Miyoshi.  “I told you not to let him stay in his room the whole time I was in France.”

            “We didn’t,” said Miyoshi defensively.

            “But you let him stay on Sublevel D the whole time, which is hardly any better,” said Sakuma.

            “He didn’t want to leave.  He felt safe there.  We thought it was important for him to feel safe.”

            “And I get why you wanted that.    And it’s good for him to feel safe at home.  But staying home for a week, never venturing outside, and never seeing the sun isn’t good for anyone,” Sakuma insisted.

            “We have top of the line replicated sun lighting,” said Miyoshi.

            “Which isn’t the same as him going outside, being in the real sun, and seeing different sights.”

            Listening to them bickering made Johann feel a little . . . annoyed.  Though he wasn’t sure why.  “What exactly happened to the kid?” he asked, to hopefully stop their bantering.

            But apparently that was the wrong thing to ask.  Both the other men’s expressions grew darker.  Sakuma’s fist clenched and he looked away.  Miyoshi looked quite bitter. 

            “Sorry,” Johann said quickly.  “It’s clearly none of my business.  I just thought . . . well, I’m glad he’s okay.”  He snuck another glance at the front and saw the teen smiling at Fukumoto, chatting happily about something, and as he watched, Fukumoto took one hand off the wheel and used it to pat him on top of the head, without taking his eyes off the road.  Then he belatedly realized what Miyoshi had said earlier.  Little brother?  What? 

            But he decided not to ask.  The kid was clearly a sore topic at the moment.  He would find out from Tazaki later.

            When they arrived at the auction house twenty minutes later, Johann went to get out.  Miyoshi threw out a hand to stop him.

            “Sakuma-san.  The door, please.”

            Sakuma scowled.

            “You are acting as my bodyguard right now, if you remember?  Part of that task includes exiting cars before me, giving the surrounding area a cursory look around for threats, then holding the door open for me, as you continue visually sweeping for threats,” said Miyoshi. 

            Sakuma sighed, but obeyed.  Johann wondered just what Sakuma’s place in D-Agency was.  Everything that he had heard so far left him confused.  Some of the things were contradictory.  It almost seemed like Sakuma was actually a cop.  But he seemed to have D-Agency’s trust.  Something he wouldn’t have if he really was a cop, even one on the take.  Maybe Tazaki would be able to shed some light on that too, later.  Well, whatever else Sakuma was, he clearly wasn’t Miyoshi’s regular bodyguard.  He seemed to be hovering a bit too much as he walked behind Miyoshi and Johann, along the walk up to the auction house’s entrance.  A regular bodyguard would have been more professional in Johann’s opinion.

            At the entrance, they were stopped by a snooty man in a black suit who requested their IDs.  Miyoshi sort of sniffed as he complied, like he was looking down on the man for not immediately being able to recognize him.  But once the man typed Miyoshi’s info into the database that they used to keep track of their visitors, his eyes widened, as a few relevant facts were probably brought to his attention.  Namely that he was dealing with the heir to the city’s largest criminal empire.

            “Forgive me, Mr. Yuuki.  I didn’t recognize you,” the man said, quickly returning his ID.

            Miyoshi just nodded, like verbalizing a response was beneath him.

            Then it came time for Johann to hand over his ID.  And predictably, that process did not go as smoothly for him as it had for Johann.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Banner, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to enter.”

            “What?  Why not?” asked Johann, even though he knew perfectly well why not.

            “I’m sorry, but our system has flagged you as a security threat.”

            “That is ridiculous,” said Miyoshi.  “Besides.  He’s with me.”

            The man faltered.  Then he tried to stand firm.  “Be that as it may, Mr. Yuuki, your friend is believed to be a risk to security, and I can’t let him in.  You, however, may certainly enter.”

            “My _date_ is nowhere close to being the threat to anything that I am,” Miyoshi said, his voice somehow staying at its current pitch and tone, yet somehow turning softly furious and poisonous at the same time.  And he didn’t flare up with protective rage.  But he radiated it like miasma all around him. 

            _“Date?”_ asked Sakuma incredulously.  That earned him a furious look from Miyoshi and he quickly shut up.

            “You dare try to deny _my_ boyfriend entry to your establishment?” asked Miyoshi.  “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?”

            “I, um, Mr. Yuuki, I’m sorry, but your friend –”

            “My boyfriend!”

            “He isn’t being refused admittance because he’s gay.  He is suspected of numerous art heists –”

            “But has he been proven to be involved in any of them?” demanded Miyoshi.

            “No, but –”

            “Then you have no reason to deny him entry!”

            “Our policy is to bar admittance to individuals who are suspect.  We do have the right to refuse entry to anyone –”

            “If you want to talk about right, I would suggest you think long and hard about if this really is the right thing for you to do,” said Miyoshi, his eyes boring into the man’s.  “Or, if you want to play it smart, pass the buck.  Get your supervisor on the phone, and he can answer for this.  Because make no mistake.  Either my date and I will be entering this establishment together, or I will be expressing my anger at someone in a way that they will most certainly regret.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            From one floor below them, Tazaki could hear furious yelling.  It sounded really, really weird.  Because it was being done in Miyoshi’s voice.  But anyone who knew him knew that Miyoshi didn’t yell like that.  The angrier he got, the more still he grew.  But if you reached that point where the rest of his body was still as a statue, except for his hands, which had begun to shake, then you knew you were well and truly screwed.  Him yelling like he was flying off the handle, like he was doing right now, wasn’t really scary to those who knew him.  Though Tazaki would cede that it was probably pretty damn scary for the poor sucker who didn’t know Miyoshi, and who Miyoshi was currently yelling at.  When Miyoshi was angry and loud like this, it was always only an act.

            “I wish we had someone filming Mr. Bauer, while Miyoshi’s going off like this,” said Jitsui, at Tazaki’s elbow, in a husky whisper.  Staying in his role, even though they didn’t think there was anyone nearby to hear them.  Because Jitsui’s role was currently to pretend he was a woman.  Tazaki’s too, simply for the sake of being fair.  Because Jitsui pretending to be female was actually necessary to their plan.  But considering how much Tazaki was asking Jitsui to cross dress for this heist, he figured he owed it to his younger friend to sacrifice a bit of his own dignity to the cause as well.

            They were there together, posing as buyers for a private art collector in South Korea.  The looks they’d chosen for these roles were balanced between being sexy and professional, with Tazaki wearing a pair of black pumps and stockings underneath a black pencil skirt, and a corset underneath a grey silk blouse, and a lady’s suit jacket.  Black, of course.  He wore a wig to make it look like he had hair of an indetermined length, pulled back into a neat bun, with a single hair stick pierced through it.  With a silver scarf wrapped around his neck, the right makeup applied, and a pair of fashionable glasses, even looking closely at him, anyone would think he was a slender, long legged Asian beauty.

            Jitsui, on the other hand, had taken some effort to change his body shape.  He looked chubby, but adorable, in a lacy, cream-colored dress that had been padded around the middle, and in the sleeves, and a pair of opaque skin-tone pantyhose which had also been padded out, to hide how naturally slender he was.  His mouth had been stuffed with cotton in a few key places, to make his face a little chubbier too, even though his black framed cats eye glasses stole most of the attention on his face.  On his feet were a pair of pink ballet flats.  And he wore a short brown wig with darker roots, making it look like he lightened his hair and was due for a root touch up soon.

            “He wants to be called Mr. Banner,” Tazaki said softly, in response to Jitsui’s remark.  “And try not to tease him too much, please.  He is my friend.”

            Jitsui gave a little shrug.  Then hurriedly adjusted his fake cleavage.  “He doesn’t like us.  So I don’t really like him.”

            “He doesn’t dislike you –”

            “Yes, he does.” 

            “He’s . . . just wary of you all.  Any smart person is.”

            “Yet he’s not smart enough to watch how he acts around us.  And I especially don’t like how he is with Miyoshi.”  Jitsui gave Tazaki a look that let him know that speaking up in defense of his friend on this issue was a bad idea.  Then he slowly walked the length of the room, seeming to be paying full attention to the various pieces of furniture and works of art on display, but in actuality making sure to angle his glasses so they not only got full views of the auction house’s wares, but also its security features.  And a few other details.  Like the sprinkler system, the vents, the windows.  And Tazaki knew he was also counting the steps he had taken since entering the room.

            They were currently on the second floor.  Arguably the auction house’s most secure floor.  In its most secure viewing room, where the most valuable items in its upcoming estate sale were tastefully arranged for potential bidders to peruse them.  And the crown jewel in the room at the moment was Sunflower Fields.  Silver Star Auctions had increased security around the painting.  Shiny brass stanchions with red velvety rope between them fenced the painting off to keep viewers from getting too close.  Tazaki spotted motion sensors set to trigger an alarm if anyone stepped beyond it.  Multiple security cameras were also set up, all angled in the direction of the painting. 

            Jitsui gave a rather inelegant snort, after appraising the security.  “It’s like they want someone to steal it.”

            “Can you really disable everything that easily?” asked Tazaki.

            “That easily,” confirmed Jitsui.  “And remotely.  If not for that trick you want to pull, I wouldn’t even need to come back here.”

            “Sorry to make things unnecessarily complicated for the sake of my ego.”

            “Don’t be,” said Jitsui.  “It’s not that much trouble.  And I’m interested in seeing how Miyoshi’s planning to screw with them.”

            “Me too.  At least we know we can count on Miyoshi to make it good.”

            Despite having more to film, both men had stopped in front of the stanchions, to admire Sunflower Fields.  But they had a practical reason for that too.  They needed images of the painting as well, for Miyoshi.

            “It really is beautiful,” Jitsui commented, appreciatively. 

            “It is,” Tazaki agreed.

            “I may have Miyoshi make a copy for me, while he’s got his forging stuff out.”

            “I’ll give you the prop copy.  As long as Miyoshi doesn’t want it to keep it for himself,” said Tazaki.

            “I don’t suppose your friend’s client would be willing to sell me the original?”

            Tazaki laughed softly.  “Could you afford it?”

            “Please remember who you’re talking to,” said Jitsui.

            Then Tazaki remembered.  Right.  Jitsui had more money than God.  He never had to work another day of his life if he didn’t want to.  He had once mentioned owning a private island, and Tazaki didn’t think he’d been joking.  Jitsui wasn’t at D-Agency for the money.

            “But, on second thought, I don’t think Miyoshi would like the real thing being kept in house,” said Jitsui.

            “No,” Tazaki agreed.  “Too much chance of trouble somewhere further down the line.”

            “Well, Miyoshi does good fakes.  I’ll be satisfied with one of his,” Jitsui said. 

            Below them, the screaming had settled down.  Miyoshi had probably gotten his way.  He, Johann, and Sakuma would take their time getting to the second floor, however, knowing that every security guard in the building would be focusing on them.  That left Tazaki, Jitsui, and Amari and Kaminaga free to get as much footage as their glasses cameras could capture, unhindered.  Though Tazaki hadn’t seen the other two yet.  But he was sure if they weren’t here now, they would arrive soon.  Besides, there was no need for them all to be in the room together.  It was actually better if they weren’t.  They didn’t want anyone to suspect that they were all working together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “Well, that was tedious,” said Miyoshi, as he and Johann strode into the auction house like they owned it.  Or at least Miyoshi strode in like he owned the place.  Johann was blushing too horribly to have any semblance of dignity.  And he kept cringing whenever Miyoshi’s arm brushed against his, as it was prone to doing, since they were walking closely beside each other.  It annoyed Miyoshi, how horrible Johann’s acting ability was.  They were supposed to be pretending to be on a date.  Johann should pull himself together and act like it for the sake of the mission.

            But come to think about it, during the real date that they had been on, several years ago, Johann had acted just like this.  Like he was scared of Miyoshi.  So . . . Miyoshi supposed he was acting the way he would if they really were on another date.  But that didn’t mean his mannerisms were believable. 

            He couldn’t help but feel that semi-familiar twinge of disappointment that he always felt when in Johann’s company.  Make no mistake, for all his irritation with Johann’s acting abilities, he did like the man.  Miyoshi would never have gone on a date with him if he hadn’t.  Johann was a very attractive man, with classically handsome features.  And Miyoshi had always adored blue eyes.  Overall, his personality was good as well.  Forthright and honest.  Or as honest as any lawyer could be.  With a very strong moral compass.  He was the kind of person who went around righting wrongs and making the world a better place.  Miyoshi supposed he was a little bit of a sucker for men who were so obviously good and just.  There was probably a psychological reason for it.  Like him wanting to bottle up and keep that goodness for himself, like by having them, he had everything that was good about them too.  Or someone more cynical would probably just say he had daddy issues.  But whatever the reasons, he wanted what he wanted. 

            Miyoshi thought that he could have been happy with Johann Banner.  But, unfortunately, Johann didn’t seem like he could ever be happy with Miyoshi.  Despite his obvious physical attraction toward Miyoshi, he was clearly terrified of him.  Cringing at every touch.  Shifting nervously whenever he was around.  Not meeting his eyes clearly.  And that was to say nothing of the way he acted around Miyoshi’s friends.  Even if Miyoshi did manage to cure Johann of his fear of him, he doubted the courtesy would extend to the rest of D-Agency’s inner circle.  And Miyoshi would not abide rudeness toward his friends from his significant other.  Or so he liked to hope.

            The truth was, Miyoshi had wanted to try and make it work.  But after their sole date, he had called Johann twice.  Johann had neither answered nor returned his calls.  And Miyoshi could take a hint.  It was better to back off with his dignity left intact.  Which was why he now acted like he enjoyed tormenting Johann a bit.  It was less about revenge and more about keeping up appearances, though hopefully no one had caught on to that.

            Miyoshi glanced surreptitiously back over his shoulder at Sakuma, who was following along behind him and Johann faithfully, though he looked even surlier than usual.  Miyoshi would have liked to think it was because the good detective was experiencing a bit of jealousy over him.  But he was all too aware that it could just be jetlag that was causing that moody look. 

            But no matter.  Miyoshi was trying very hard not to consider Sakuma that way.  Even though Sakuma fit his type to a T.  Right down to the blue eyes.  And even though Sakuma was fitting in better with the rest of D-Agency’s inner circle far better than Miyoshi had ever hoped Johann could.  Despite him being a cop, they all liked him.  Even Hatano, who usually didn’t like anyone who didn’t work at the casino.  And Jitsui, who normally hated anyone else who got too close to Hatano, whether they worked for the casino or not.  There were times when Miyoshi actually caught himself thinking of Sakuma as one of them.  He knew Sakuma would have been horrified to know that, though.  Even though his way of thinking about them had changed quite a bit since last month.  Since he realized that D-Agency wasn’t made up entirely of monsters like he’d first thought.  Which . . . had actually only made Miyoshi admire him more.  Men who could admit when they were wrong about something and change their points of view were deserving of respect in his book.

            Miyoshi realized where his thoughts were going and did his best to banish them.  Him falling for Sakuma was not something that would be ideal right now.  Even right this moment there was too much to be done for him to bother with a trivial affair like romance.  Which was to say nothing for his plans for the coming months.  Plans involving Sakuma.  They had gone out of their way to get him into D-Agency and then win him over to their way of thinking.  And the price for that had been far greater than Miyoshi had counted on.  He wasn’t about to risk ruining it all now on a fling that almost certainly would end badly.  Even though Sakuma looked delicious enough to make Miyoshi think it might be worth that risk.

            No, no, now wasn’t the time to think like that and he knew it.  He was in the middle of an art heist.  And so he led their party through the rooms full of dead peoples’ stuff awaiting its time on the auction block, ambling past antiques and knickknacks from faraway lands, eyes constantly kept peeled for the painting that they planned to steal.  Though actually scoping out the painting wasn’t really his job.  He was the decoy.  Him and Johann, at least.  They had three security guards trying to subtly tail them, and somewhere, in a security office, he was sure that whoever was responsible for watching the security camera footage was focusing on them and them alone. 

            So they took a very long time making their way through the first floor, well aware that the painting wasn’t likely to be there.  The ground level by its very nature, was always the least secure floor of any building.  If Miyoshi had to guess where the Van Gogh was being kept, he’d say the second floor.  Or possibly the third, but the second floor, with its lack of an access balcony, and the bars on all its windows, seemed to be the most secure.

            When they finally made it to the staircase, they met Tazaki and Jitsui on their way down.  Though Johann didn’t recognize either of them.  Not even his old friend from college.  Which, Miyoshi really wasn’t surprised about.  Johann was looking for a tall Asian man.  Not an even taller Asian woman.  In the company of a tiny, chubby Asian woman no less.  Even if he had known Tazaki might be cross dressing for his disguise, there was no guarantee he could have picked him out.

            But Sakuma . . . Detective Sakuma must have recognized one of both of the cross dressing career criminals.  He made a strangled choking sound at the sight of them, prompting Miyoshi to give him a sharp look, that he didn’t even see.

            Tazaki and Jitsui, for their part, mostly ignored Miyoshi’s party, only acknowledging them with a polite nod for having allowed them to descend the staircase before starting upwards themselves.  And Sakuma, catching on to the fact that he really shouldn’t make a scene about this, promptly looked away from them and called no further attention to any of them.

            Amari was in the room where Sunflower fields was displayed when they arrived.  At his feet was a briefcase, and in his hands a little notebook, which he was scribbling into without taking his eyes off the painting.  Playing the part of a writer for an art magazine.  He barely glanced at them, even when they went over to admire the painting as well.  Miyoshi ignored him in turn.  Johann didn’t know him, so there was no risk of him blowing Amari’s cover.  And Sakuma, who could certainly recognize Amari if he’d seen through Tazaki and Jitsui’s disguises, was better prepared, now that he was facing a disguise much more tame than a man in drag.  He did nothing to give away that he and Amari were acquainted.

            Kaminaga entered before they left, trailing a security guard of his own.  His method of skating by under the radar seemed to be to be by deliberately flying above it.  In other words, he was touching everything he could get his hands on, and the guard assigned to him was constantly having to restrain him or tell him to put something down.  After the painting was stolen, and the police went back and looked over the security footage from the auction house for suspects, Kaminaga’s role certainly wouldn’t make that list.  He seemed like the most unsubtle person in any room he ever walked in.  The last one you’d expect to help pull off an elaborate heist.  Johann definitely recognized Kaminaga.  But since Kaminaga had picked up a small, hand held globe that was probably worth about as much as a nice car, and was spinning it around and around, Johann’s apprehension could have been passed off as understandable.  Sakuma remained admirably stoic.  Though thankfully for the two of them, they weren’t around Kaminaga very long. 

            During their time in the auction house, Miyoshi spoke to several people he didn’t know, who were also there perusing the auction house’s wares.  Knowing the police would focus more on those people, after the painting went missing and they reviewed today’s security footage. 

            All in all it was an enjoyable affair for Miyoshi.  He got to see a famous painting.  He had a hand in helping set in motion the events that would return it to its rightful owner.  And he got to go on a sort-of date with not one but two men who were just his type.  Overall, there were much worse ways Miyoshi could have spent the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: The early stages of the plan have been set into motion. :)  Recon, and a little bit more.  You’ll find out what they were filming the auction house for next chapter, I think.  And sorry for there not being much of Tazaki in this chapter, even though it’s his arc.  Miyoshi kinda hijacked it with his diva wiles, lol.  He was on a date, dammit.  He demanded that attention be paid to him.  But at least the one scene Tazaki was in, he was cross dressing in, right?  That’s got to count for something.

I promise he’ll be featured more prominently in upcoming chapters.  He’s the mastermind behind the plan and his role is going to be as the face of the operation when they go public with it.  But right now he’s depending on his friends to help pull it all together.


	18. Tazaki's Arc: Part 4

            Miyoshi hummed lightly as he spread his supplies out in Sublevel D’s secondary kitchen.  There was no shortage of rooms down on Sublevel D, but the kitchens had the best lighting.  And easy access to water, which never went amiss while painting.  And Miyoshi would be doing more than just painting.  He would be creating paints.  Mixing different pigments into compounds that weren’t normally used as paints, but that Miyoshi would be attempting to turn into paints to give them certain properties that were necessary for their plan.  Well, he would be doing that eventually.  His first task, however, was an easier one.  He was just going to forge a normal copy of Sunflower Fields.

            Jitsui had gotten him a good quality photograph of it, from the day’s recon mission, and so Miyoshi had that up on his laptop as a reference.  A canvas of the proper size was set up on an easel in front of him, with a tarp beneath it to protect the floor.  On the counter next to him were two other canvases of the same size (they’d come in a three pack), Miyoshi’s box of acrylic paints, and a clean pallet to put his paints on.

            Miyoshi had just finished doling out all the colors he anticipated needing for his forgery when Hatano slunk in with hopeful eyes.  Miyoshi smiled and beckoned him closer.

            Right now, Hatano seemed like he was at kind of a contradictory point in his recovery.  His recent trauma still weighed on him, and he did want to get better, but he was having a hard time of it.  The trauma from his early life was holding him back now too.  It was hard for him to do the things they knew would help him get better, like going outside, and getting back out into the world.  And his family in D-Agency probably wasn’t as good about making him take those steps to recovering as they should have been, Miyoshi would ruefully admit.  They saw their boy getting distressed and they quickly backtracked.  Anything to keep the fear out of his eyes, and to make him feel safe again.  Even if it wasn’t the best thing for him, Miyoshi thought their coddling was forgivable.  They were doing their best for him.

            But right now, Hatano seemed to want to snap back to being well again all at once.  And they all knew better than to think he was really capable of it, or that they should let him pretend he was.  He wanted in on the art heist.  But he still wasn’t comfortable leaving Sublevel D on his own.  Not even just to walk around the casino by himself.  He wanted to help Tazaki, and get the painting back to its rightful owner, and have fun.  But his fear was still holding him back.  So the roles that they could use him for in the heist were limited.  And he knew it.  Some of the others probably thought that they had pulled the wool over Hatano’s eyes about certain parts of the plan, but Miyoshi knew Hatano well enough to know Hatano was just letting them think that.  He was trying to be unselfish and not make them feel bad about excluding him because of his trauma, so he was pretending that he didn’t know.  But he was too smart not to be aware that under ordinary circumstances, they would have been relying on him heavily for the heist.  He would probably have been the one sent in to actually steal the painting, if he had been his normal, energetic self.  Now, he had to settle for whatever role they would give him.

            “I have something for you, Hatano,” said Miyoshi, as Hatano drew nearer.  “I picked it up for you when I was out getting art supplies.”

            Hatano’s eyes lit with a bit of their old spark at the prospect of a present. 

            “It’s not much,” said Miyoshi, handing him the small paper bag that his gift was in.  “But I thought you might enjoy using these.”

            Hatano eagerly opened the bag and pulled out the small yellow and green box inside.  He stared at it blankly for a moment, then looked up at Miyoshi.  “What’s a Crayola?”

            Miyoshi smiled.  “Crayola is the brand name.  Take a look inside the box.”

            Hatano obeyed.  Then he grinned up at Miyoshi, and for a moment it was like the past three weeks had never happened.  _“Kureyon!”_

            “They’re called crayons in English,” Miyoshi told him, pleased at the transformation.  “I take it you used to have a box?”

            Hatano nodded.  “Back when I was in school.  My box was smaller than this one.  Without as many colors.  And I wasn’t really good at staying in the lines.  But they were fun.”

            Miyoshi picked up one of the canvases from the counter and put it down in front of a stool.  Then he motioned for Hatano to hop up.  “I’m afraid your teachers were idiots, Hatano.  Art isn’t about staying inside the lines.”

            “It’s not?” Hatano asked.

            “No.  It’s not.  Look.  See this painting?”  Miyoshi gestured toward his laptop.

            “No.  Your screensaver’s on,” said Hatano, smirking cheekily.

            Miyoshi mock glared at him then tapped his laptop to wake it up.  “Alright.  Now, see this painting.  Do you see a single straight, black line anywhere on the painting?”

            “No,” Hatano answered.

            “Do you think it needs black lines outlining everything?”

            Hatano shook his head.  “That would probably ruin it.”

            “Exactly,” said Miyoshi.

            “It’s even prettier up close like that,” said Hatano, his eyes still on the image of Sunflower Fields.  “The pictures in the file didn’t do it justice.”

            “They never do,” said Miyoshi. 

            “Is this for me too?” asked Hatano, pointing at the canvas in front of him.

            “Yes,” Miyoshi said.  “Why don’t you keep me company while I’m painting?  We can make art together.”

            “But is this really okay?” asked Hatano, lifting up the canvas.  “It looks official and important-like.  I always used to draw on normal white paper.”

            “It’s fine,” Miyoshi promised him, pressing the canvas back down onto the counter and putting the box of crayons in Hatano’s hand.  “You can draw on regular paper when I don’t have a spare canvas for you to use instead.  Okay?”

            “Okay,” Hatano agreed.  He eagerly opened the box and spilled all his crayons out beside his workspace.  Something that Miyoshi thought must have been a force of habit.  Something he’d once done all the time, and had done again now, unconsciously.  Then Hatano paused.  “What should I draw?”

            “How about you draw me some sunflowers?” Miyoshi suggested.

            Hatano shook his head slowly.  “No, no.  You’re painting sunflowers.  And yours are going to look just like those.”  He pointed at the painting.  “Mine will never look that good.”

            “They don’t have to,” said Miyoshi.  “And you can’t let that stop you.  If you’re worried that someone else is going to draw something better than you, and you let it stop you, you’ll never end up drawing anything.  And you’ll never get any better.  You have to try, alright?”

            Hatano still looked a little doubtful, but he nodded.

            “And don’t try to draw them so they look like this,” said Miyoshi.  “Draw them the way you see them.  Make them your sunflowers.”

            “But you’re making them look like that,” said Hatano.

            “That’s because I’m a top of the line black market art forger,” Miyoshi reminded him.

            “Oh.  Right.”

            “Just have fun with it,” Miyoshi told him.  “Don’t worry about messing it up, or making mistakes.  Just have a good time.”

            “Alright,” Hatano agreed.  Then he set to work.  Miyoshi watched over his shoulder for just a moment, then turned back to his own work, smiling.

            Sakuma had been kind enough to give them a few books on how to help loved ones overcome traumas.  And in some of those books, the subject of art therapy was mentioned.  Miyoshi didn’t think this was quite what they’d had in mind.  But for now, all the fear and depression had been chased from Hatano’s expression, and that was enough for Miyoshi. 

            With that taken care of, Miyoshi dipped his brush into a shade of deep, sky blue paint.  And then he went to work.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The largest room on Sublevel D was simply known as the workroom.  When the casino was first built Yuuki, recognizing that there might be a need for special projects constructed away from the sight of any prying eyes, had arranged for there to be such a space.  Its ceilings were higher than the rest of the level’s ceilings, and its floors were plain concrete.  It was a large, wide open room, with good lighting and plenty of power outlets.  And so it was perfect for the construction of the set they were building. 

            Jitsui got them the dimensions that they needed to make a perfectly scaled replica of the room that Sunflower Fields was in, back at the auction house, using the data gathered from all of the footage recorded by the cameras built into the glasses they’d worn while scoping the place out.  Those pictures were fed through a software program he’d developed, and got him the room’s exact dimension.  He gave those to Tazaki, then retreated to his room, to work on his next part of the project away from the noise of the set’s construction.

            Tazaki wasn’t much of a carpenter.  He was handy enough with a hammer and a nail, and could even use power tools too, but coordinating projects where things had to be put together was outside his area of expertise.  Thankfully, it was well within Odagiri’s.  The meaningless strings of numbers Jitsui had printed out and handed to Tazaki seemed to make perfect sense to him.  He immediately got Tazaki, Kaminaga, Fukumoto, and Amari on track, measuring and marking pieces of lumber, cutting them, and then assembling them into a sort of frame for the set.

            They were able to move even faster, thanks to their combined pool of talents allowing them to take shortcuts.  Once, Tazaki had done a similar trick to the one he was planning to pull now.  But for that one, he’d had to construct a perfect replica that was 100 percent accurate.  It had taken forever, not just to build, but to fill with props matching the items in the room he’d been replicating.  But now, thanks to the miracles of modern technology, and the fact that they had Jitsui on their side, making the set look physically identical in every way to the room they were knocking off wasn’t necessary at all.  The only thing Jitsui needed were the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.  Painted a hideous shade of green.  The rest he would take care of.

            Because while half the inner circle was constructing that set, Jitsui was using all the pictures and video footage from their glasses to make a digital collage of the room, that could be used in conjunction with green screen technology.  It was a long, painstaking process, but he didn’t mind.  None of them really minded, despite the amount of work that they were all putting into this.  Sometimes it was nice, doing something, all together.  Even though they each had their own roles, and were often doing their own thing for the project, it was just nice knowing that you were still working with your friends.  And that when it all came together in the end, it was because of all of you. 

            Later on in the afternoon, Hatano finished whatever he’d been doing with Miyoshi and went to help Jitsui with the imaging.  He didn’t have all Jitsui’s knowledge when it came to computers and hacking, but Jitsui had taught him an awful lot.  No one at D-Agency was quite sure how much, but there had been several memorable occasions in the past, when Hatano had stepped in to fulfil Jitsui’s role, or hacked into something very casually, without seeming to realize what he was doing was a very specialized skill.  When the construction team took a break for dinner, and Fukumoto went in to check on the kids, he found them still hard at work, sorting through images and cleaning them up for inclusion in the collage. 

            “Dinnertime,” Fukumoto told them firmly, hoping there would be no argument.

            “I’ll eat later,” Jitsui said, eyes glued to his screen.  “Hatano, you go on.”

            “Not if you’re not coming,” said Hatano stubbornly.

            “It’s alright, Hatano.  I’m not really hungry.  I’ll eat when I am,” said Jitsui.

            “And I’ll eat when you eat.”

            Jitsui finally looked up from his work, frowning.  “Hatano.”

            “Jitsui.”

            “Both of you, come eat,” said Fukumoto.  “Now, please.”

            The thing about Jitsui when it came to working, was that he didn’t like to take breaks.  He’d rather stay at his computer for twenty hours straight, than split it up so that he worked ten hours one day, then ten hours the next day, like any normal person would.  It took a lot to pry him away once he’d gotten started.  But Hatano could usually manage.

            It took a little more petulance and cajoling, an attempt at dragging Jitsui’s chair to the kitchen with him in it, and then, finally, Hatano latching onto the back of Jitsui’s chair, wrapping his arms and legs around the chair so that he was restraining Jitsui in the process, and shouting at Fukumoto to quickly, come drag the chair to the kitchen, but finally he was victorious.  Jitsui had more or less stopped struggling by the time Fukumoto pulled the two of them into the kitchen. 

            Only a couple of the others glanced up at the sight.  But most of them were tired from the day’s work and just concentrated on their food.  More drastic things had been done in the past to get Jitsui to break for dinner.  More would be done in the future too, seemed to be the general consensus.  There was no need to stop and stare now, for a little thing like this. 

            “How is the set coming along?” asked Miyoshi, entering the kitchen behind the crowd consisting of Jitsui, Hatano, Fukumoto, and Jitsui’s chair. 

            “Almost finished,” Odagiri told him.

            “All that’s left to do is painting it green,” said Tazaki.  “What about the forgeries?”

            “Still in progress.  But they’ll be done on schedule,” promised Miyoshi.

            “And the digital set?” Tazaki asked Jitsui. 

            “I need a few more hours,” said Jitsui.  “Then it will take a couple more hours after that to render.  While it’s doing that, I plan to sleep.  You’ll have it by tomorrow.”

            “Good, good.  Thank you all,” Tazaki said.

            “If you’re thankful then I expect you to intervene, next time this imp tries to interrupt my work and kidnap me for dinner,” said Jitsui, looking pointedly at Hatano.  He looked annoyed.  But no one could mistake the warmth in his eyes when he looked at his best friend.

            “Aww, don’t hate me, Jitsui,” said Hatano.  “Not when I made something just for you.  You brought it, right Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi nodded and motioned to the counter.  Hatano scampered over to retrieve it, and then presented it to Jitsui.  His crayon drawing from earlier that afternoon. 

            “For me?” Jitsui asked, any lingering traces of annoyance melting away in the face of Hatano’s enthusiasm.

            “Yep!  Just for you,” Hatano practically sang.

            “Thank you, Hatano.  I love it,” said Jitsui, admiring the work.  “It’s very bright and cheerful.  And those sunflowers look so happy.  I’ll hang it up in my room.”

            “Not on the refrigerator?” Kaminaga teased.

            “It’s a piece of canvas stretched across a wooden frame.  You think a magnet would hold it up?” asked Jitsui, impatiently. 

            “Maybe not, but superglue would.”

            A round of light hearted bickering started.  Food was dished out onto the plates of the newcomers.  Tazaki took a moment to step back from it all and survey his troops.  The day had been very productive.  But there was still a lot of work left to be done.  And the hardest parts were yet to come.  But then again, so were the most fun parts. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Before going to bed, the construction team got a full coat of paint on the set.  The work went quickly with five of them using roller brushes.  The plan was for them to get up early and get another coat of paint on the set before breakfast, then put the last one on before lunch.  But when Tazaki made his way to the workroom the next morning, yawning and still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he got a surprise.  Yuuki-san was in the workroom, roller brush in hand.  He’d removed his suitcoat and tie to avoid getting them dirty.  Probably a good call.  Even though he hadn’t gotten any on his white button down shirt, there were a few drips of green in his silver hair.

            “Yuuki-san?” Tazaki asked in disbelief. 

            Yuuki regarded him coolly, as if there was nothing strange or surprising about finding him painting at six o’clock in the morning.  “Please take care of your rabbit.”

            “What?” Tazaki looked in the direction that Yuuki made a curt gesture toward and saw that the cardboard box that the ceiling drape had come in seemed to have sprouted rabbit ears.  He hurried over, and sure enough, there was his pet rabbit, Usa-chan.  Nibbling on a strawberry.

            “She kept reappearing after I shut her out,” said Yuuki, sounding very stern about this.

            “I see.  I’m sorry for the trouble, sir,” said Tazaki, as he mentally followed Yuuki’s logic.  He doubted Usa-chan would have gone near the paint on her own, on account of its smell, but it seemed Yuuki hadn’t given her credit for being that intelligent.  He’d put her in the box because he was worried about her, and gave her food to keep her placated.  Which, had probably been what she wanted all along, since she’d refused to go away from the only man on Sublevel D who’d been awake at the time.  “Thank you for taking care of her, Yuuki-san.”

            Yuuki ignored his thanks and went back to painting.  Tazaki picked up the box and carried it out into the hall.  Then he addressed his rabbit.

            “We’ve talked about this, Usa-chan,” he said sternly.  “You can’t be underfoot when people are working.”

            Usa-chan looked up at him with her beady red eyes.

            “Nah ah.  Don’t try to pull that with me, miss.  You have food and water.  It doesn’t hurt you to eat pellet food once in awhile.”

            Usa-chan continued to stare at him.

            “You need to be especially careful with Yuuki-san, if you don’t want to be eaten whole,” Tazaki warned her, then went back into the workroom, shutting the door behind him.  He trusted Usa-chan not to follow this time. 

            Yuuki, it seemed, was just finishing up now.  He had cleaned off and set down his roller brush, wiped off his hands (both the real and the artificial one) and picked up his jacket and tie.  “The paint was dry when I came by.  So I added another coat to the entire set.”

            “Oh.  Thank you,” said Tazaki, trying not to sound as bemused as he felt, as Yuuki swept out of the workroom.  “Huh.  I guess even Yuuki-san wants to help out with the heist,” he mused, as he was left alone.

            He grabbed a piece of scratch paper and quickly jotted down a note for the others on it, informing them that Yuuki-san had taken care of painting on the second coat, and that they were free to go back to bed or do whatever else until just before lunch. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            There were actually a disturbing number of dresses on Sublevel D, for a place where no women lived.  Crossdressing was one of the major tools in their arsenal for when the men of D-Agency wanted to avoid recognition.  Thus the need for a very well stocked wardrobe.  After each article of clothing’s use, it was cleaned and returned to the communal wardrobe.  The last man to wear it jotted down a note on its protective garment bag with a quick description of the job they’d used it on.  That way, they avoided reusing noteworthy pieces of clothing that stood out too much, too soon after it had been used in another disguise.

            Jitsui had come to the wardrobe after getting up and seeing that his images had finished rendering.  And Hatano, who’d slept in his room last night and woke up when he did, came along with him, naturally.  As he perused the wardrobe for a suitable dress for the operation, Jitsui wondered if he had done something wrong in raising Hatano, for Hatano to be going along with this so casually that he really seemed to think this was normal.  Well, in D-Agency it wasn’t exactly abnormal.  Every single one of them, including Yuuki-san, had dressed in drag at least once in the past three years.  When Jitsui thought about it, he guessed it was no wonder that Hatano just accepted this as something natural.  No snickering, or teasing, or giving off the sense that Jitsui was doing something demeaning or something that Hatano could hold over him.  Just casual acceptance.

            They stayed near the side of the room where the smaller sized clothes were stored, and searched the cocktail dress rack for suitable things that either had never been worn, or hadn’t been worn within the past year or two.  Then Jitsui made the call whether or not a dress would go with the shoes he’d already chosen for the job.  Since Hatano admittedly wasn’t very good at matching up shoes to outfits.  After a few minutes, Jitsui had a selection of five that could work pulled for trying on.  He took them over to the side of the room with all the mirrors and started to strip down, as Hatano fetched his corset and helped him get it on.  Then he stood still as Hatano started lacing him up.

            “Tighter,” he said, when he realized Hatano was leaving too much slack.

            He saw Hatano frown in the mirror, but the younger boy complied, pulling a little harder on the laces.  But not that much harder.

            “Tighter,” Jitsui said again.

            “I want to make sure you can still breathe when we’re done,” said Hatano.

            “I’ll be able to,” said Jitsui.  “You’re not cinching it anywhere near as tight as it should be.”

            “But I read that these can actually be dangerous, and that they’ve caused a lot of health problems including miscarriages,” said Hatano, looking alarmed.

            “I promise that you’re not going to cause me to have a miscarriage,” said Jitsui, trying to hide his amusement.  “Please tighten it the way you normally do, Hatano.”

            Finally, Hatano complied.  Normal for Jitsui was tight enough to give him curves in the right places, but not so tight that he couldn’t run if he needed to.  He twisted from side to side briefly, and stretched out his arms just to make sure before nodding.  Then he started trying on the dresses he’d pulled.

            Flashy, was the criteria Tazaki had given him.  Think magician’s assistant, he’d said.  So, for this role, Jitsui needed to be as beautiful and showy as possible, with just the right amount of sluttiness thrown in.  Not as easy a combination to achieve as one might think.  But Jitsui found a dress that managed to help him find that balance.

            It was a strapless little number, completely covered in iridescent white sequins, cut very short, with a slit up the side of the skirt, nearly all the way to the hip.  With the front of his corset stuffed, to make it look like he had a bosom, Jitsui was of the opinion that he looked positively ravishing.  And that was even before he added a wig, did his nails, or accessorized.  It would look even better if he was wearing it with shoes that had a bit of a heal to them, but his shoes had been the first thing he’d picked out, and everything else was being planned around those.  He needed shoes that he could move in.  Ones that he could get up on stage in and not risk breaking an ankle in.  So he’d played it safe and gone with flats.  Ones that were identical to the pair he’d worn yesterday in the auction house, except his current pair were black instead of pink, and he’d glued an elastic strap just in front of the ankles, to make them look more like Mary Janes than ballet flats.  Now that he’d chosen his dress, he could alter then a little more.  He still had that Bedazzling kit Kaminaga had given him as a joke gift for his last birthday, somewhere.

            “This is the one I’m going to go with,” Jitsui told Hatano, not bothering to ask an opinion.  He saw no need to fish for compliments over this.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t slightly . . . bothered, when he saw the expression Hatano was fixing him with.  Rather than looking neutral, or admiring, or even mocking, Hatano looked slightly disgusted.  It had been a very long time since Jitsui felt self-conscious or any doubt when it came to cross dressing, but now . . . “What’s wrong?  You don’t like it?”

            “No,” said Hatano bluntly.

            Jitsui couldn’t help but feel bewildered.  “Why not?”

            Hatano looked conflicted.

            “Tell me, please,” Jitsui requested. 

            “I feel like we’re trussing you up too much, and making you easy prey,” said Hatano.  “Corsets are bad enough, but I get that they’re necessary.  But that dress is too tiny and tight.  You won’t be able to move in it.  Not well.  Not enough to defend yourself if you have to.”

            Oh.

            Now Jitsui could see the problem.  Hatano was remembering how he’d needed to defend himself, but hadn’t been able to move.  And now he was worrying about Jitsui.

            “Hatano,” he said, trying to find the words to fix this.  “You know that nothing is going to happen to me.”

            “I don’t know that.  Things can always go wrong,” said Hatano.

            “But I won’t even be leaving the casino dressed like this,” said Jitsui.  “It’s only for on the set.  And then for maybe half an hour at Tazaki’s show.”

            “Someone could still try to grab you before the show, when you’re on your way there,” said Hatano.  “Or after it.  You’re way too irresistible for your own good.  Any man who sees you is going to want you.  And after the show, the role you’re playing is literally going to be wanted.  By the police.  Miyoshi’s planning on inviting some of them, you know.  So what if they try to grab you right there in the casino?”

            “It will be okay,” promised Jitsui.  “We’ll work something out with Tazaki.  To make me disappear right out of the auditorium.  Will that make you feel better?”

            Hatano considered this for a moment, then nodded.  “But before?”

            “I’ll change backstage.  I’ll never leave the auditorium or Sublevel D dressed like this.  Alright?”

            Again, Hatano considered.  But it seemed that he was finally placated, because he nodded.  “Alright.  I . . . I’m sorry I’m being difficult.  I just . . . don’t want anything to happen to you.”  He scuffed one foot on the floor, staring down at the ground, embarrassed.

            Jitsui’s heart clenched.  “Hatano?” he asked.  Then he waited until Hatano looked up at him, then launched himself at Hatano.

            “Whoa!” Hatano caught him, just like he knew he would, staggering a little under the force of Jitsui’s flying hug. 

            “Everything’s going to be alright.  I promise,” said Jitsui, shifting from foot to foot, so that he was rocking Hatano from side to side with him.

            “It better be,” Hatano muttered moodily, but hugged Jitsui back tightly.

            “It will be,” Jitsui said.  “I promised, didn’t I?”  Then he leaned in a bit further to give Hatano a quick kiss on the forehead.

            “Am I interrupting something?” asked Kaminaga from the door, sounding very amused. 

            “Yes.  Now go away,” said Jitsui.

            Kaminaga ignored that order.  “Tazaki wants to know if you’re ready for the screen test.  We just finished putting on the last coat of paint.  It’s not dry yet, and you’re not ready to film anyway, I know.  But if you’ve got the imaging ready, he wants to test it out.”

            “It’s ready,” said Jitsui.  “I said it would be ready today, didn’t I?”

            “Yes, but you’re so unreliable that I thought maybe – that was a joke!  It was a joke, Jitsui!  Don’t – Hatano, help!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Kaminaga was limping as he carried in Jitsui’s gear bag and laptop.  Tazaki wondered what was up with that, but decided not to ask.  He thought he could probably guess.

            “Where’s Jitsui?” he asked instead, as Kaminaga proceeded to open the gear bag and start setting the camera up, with the occasional wince. 

            “Changing out of his dress,” Kaminaga said, confirming Tazaki’s suspicions.  Jitsui was always rather short tempered when he had to cross dress, bringing his sadistic streak that much closer to the surface.

            “Well.  You know how to set it up, right?”

            “Yes,” Kaminaga said morosely.

            Tazaki left him to carry on.  Just after he was finished, Jitsui and Hatano entered the workroom, Miyoshi and Amari trailing after them.

            “Amari says you’re ready for the screen test?” Miyoshi commented.

            “No, he lied to you,” said Tazaki.  Then he smirked.  “Yes, we’re ready for the screen test.  How are the forgeries?”

            “One is finished and just needs to dry.  The other, nearly finished,” reported Miyoshi.  “I advise waiting until the day after tomorrow, at least, just to give the paint the time it needs.  We’re still well ahead of schedule.”

            “We are,” said Tazaki.  “I think it’s best to strive to stay that way though.  Jitsui?  Can you be ready by the day after tomorrow to make the swap?”

            Jitsui nodded.  “That will give me time to get what gear I need to ready.  And the alterations to the hardware that you wanted modified.”

            “You know, I could come to the swap and help out,” offered Hatano.  “I could install the hardware for you if you want –”

            “You’re not tall enough,” Tazaki told him. 

            “Then I could get the painting while you guys install the hardware,” said Hatano.

            “I think the fewer people we have there, the better,” said Tazaki.  “It’s really a two man job, so I think it’s best if we keep it that way.”

            Hatano relented.  For now.  The look in his eyes said he might try bringing it up again.  But this wasn’t something Tazaki or Jitsui was going to relent on.  Neither believed Hatano was ready for a bigger role in the heist.

            Odagiri returned at that moment, providing a welcome distraction.  “Yuuki-san has declined to come for the screen test.”

            Tazaki was not surprised.  Yuuki-san didn’t want to seem like he was geeking out over the prospect of an art heist.  He did his best to appear more dignified than that.

            “Then I guess we should get started,” Tazaki said. 

            Jitsui took over on his laptop, opening the program that they needed, and syncing up with the camera.  Then he nodded and stepped back, so the others could see the screen.  “Success.”

            Tazaki glanced at the screen and smiled.  The screen showed what the camera was trained on.  And though the camera was trained on the pure green set that they’d built, instead the screen showed the room at the auction house.  The image was so clear and perfect, if Tazaki would have thought it was the original, if he hadn’t known better.  The only difference was that in the replica Jitsui had digitally put together, the Sunflower Fields painting, and the stanchions had been edited out. 

            Before Tazaki had to ask for a volunteer to test how well the image stood up with a human in it, Fukumoto went and walked onto the set, on top of the green tarp they’d put down over the floor.  He didn’t act goofy or act up for the camera.  He simply stood there for several moments, then gave them a thumbs up, keeping a stoic expression on his face all the while.

            On the laptop screen, it looked like he was actually standing in the auction house.

            “Perfect,” Tazaki said, waving for Fukumoto to come back to them.  Odagiri went and took Fukumoto’s place, so Fukumoto got a chance to see how realistically it appeared whoever was in front of the camera was green screened into the auction house.  “Excellent work everyone.  You especially, Jitsui.  Your imaging is amazing.”

            Jitsui nodded, accepted the compliment as his due. 

            “We’ll film the scene the day after the heist,” Tazaki told Jitsui.  “That will give Miyoshi’s forgery time to dry, and you time to do all the special effects before the show.  Sound good?”

            “Yes,” Jitsui agreed.  “But while I am editing your special effects, I will require a cup of coffee every fifteen minutes.”

            “Anything you want,” Tazaki readily agreed. 

            “Don’t make promises that you’re going to make other people keep for you,” whined Kaminaga.

            “It’s not like you have anything better to do,” Jitsui retorted.

            “I,” Miyoshi interrupted what was promising to be a long and painful (for Kaminaga) argument, “however do.  There’s still a lot to coordinate on the business and legal ends of all this.  But before I go, you should all know, both Mr. Banner’s client and the Vancouver Art Gallery have agreed to our proposal.  Also, the mayor’s office just got back to me.  Mayor Gordon has declined our invitation to attend your special show.  It seems he has better things to do.”

            “I’ve heard he’s giving some kind of speech that evening,” Jitsui said casually.  But his wicked smile belied his words.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with dislike for us.  It’s simply a scheduling conflict.”

            “A certain scheduling conflict,” agreed Miyoshi.

            Tazaki, privy to the inside jokes that Jitsui and Miyoshi were tossing around, smirked slyly.  “So the name of the show –”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi.  “No one else will know until the night of the performance.  But we are definitely going with ‘A Certain Criminal Element.’”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes:  Once again, Miyoshi is the first one to say the show’s name. :P  I promise you’ll see why in time.  And that it will be at least a little funny when you get let in on the joke.

 

By now you may be able to guess at least part of what their plan is going to be.  Anyone think they’ve figured out the whole thing? 


	19. Tazaki's Arc: Part 5

            “Miyoshi!” Sakuma called, seeing his boss in the service hall and noting that he was alone.  “I would like a word, please.”

            “Why certainly, Detective,” said Miyoshi graciously.  He motioned for Sakuma to follow him into that floor’s employee break room.  Then he paused, noticing something unusual.  “Do you know why there are tape markers on the floor?”

            Sakuma did not.  Nor did he care very much.  “No.  I –”

            “I wonder what they’re for,” Miyoshi mused.  He approached them but stopped short of stepping on them. 

            “That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” said Sakuma.

            “I know,” said Miyoshi.  “I just saw them and got curious.  So I suppose you’re wondering what yesterday was about.”

            “Yes.  I mean no.  I mean,” Sakuma paused to draw a breath.  “I know you’re up to something.  Something illegal –”

            “Off books,” corrected Miyoshi.

            “What?”

            “Our terminology,” said Miyoshi with an elegant shrug. 

            “Fine.  I know you guys are up to something off books,” said Sakuma exasperatedly.  “I saw half your inner circle at that auction house today.  Tazaki and Jitsui in drag no less.”

            “They make very classy ladies, don’t they,” said Miyoshi.

            “That’s not the point,” said Sakuma.  “I know you guys are up to something.  But I don’t want to know what.  I don’t think it’s concerning one of those corruption cases that you dragged me into this arrangement for.  So I don’t want to be dragged into that.  I want to make it clear that there’s a line.  A very clear line.  One that I don’t cross.  And I’m drawing that line at anything not related to a corruption case.  Or anything where innocent people might get hurt or killed without my intervention.  You can involve me for those but not . . . not for whatever smuggling operation or protection money racketing thing you had going on yesterday.”

            Miyoshi smiled slyly.  “We were actually –”

            Sakuma threw up his hands.  “I don’t want to know.”

            “Alright.  I won’t tell you then,” said Miyoshi.  Then he smirked.  “But you’re not even a little bit curious –”

            “No I’m not.”

            “- about my relationship with Mr. Banner?”

            “No,” said Sakuma quickly.  That was a lie, but he would never admit it.  He was ninety percent certain that there wasn’t anything going on between Miyoshi and Johann Banner right now.  Johann had seemed quite uncomfortable in Miyoshi’s presence.  It kind of hinted at a past relationship but Sakuma doubted it had been too serious.  Moreover, Johann had been looking at Sakuma with a definite hostile look in his eyes, like he sensed competition.  Which was ridiculous on a number of levels.  Really, it was . . .

            “Oh?  Figured it out on your own, have you?” asked Miyoshi.  “Don’t tell me you Googled him.  Or looked him up on social media?”

            “No,” said Sakuma.  “Because if I’m suspected of being involved in whatever it was that you dragged me to the fringes of, my computer and phone are both at risk of being seized, and the Metro is perfectly at liberty to do that.  I want plausible deniability if they ask, and no trace of anything to contradict that on any of my personal devices.”

            “A convenient excuse,” said Miyoshi.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Sakuma.

            Miyoshi just looked up at him with smoldering eyes.  Then he stepped forward, into Sakuma’s personal space, and reached for his throat.  “Your tie is crooked, Detect – ah!”

            Sakuma yelped too, as without warning, they were both hit with high powered jets of water.  Without thinking, he grabbed Miyoshi and pulled him out of the wet zone, and behind himself so that Miyoshi was shielded, as he scanned for the source of the danger – er, water.  Up on the ceiling, he saw it.  The sprinkler system had malfunctioned somehow.  Two of the sprinkler heads had turned on, seemingly on their own, but instead of sending out a spray for 360 degrees around the sprinkler heads, they’d both sprayed out intense beams of water that intersected right where Miyoshi and Sakuma had been standing.  Right, Sakuma noticed, where the tape marks on the floor were.  And then he realized that he heard a voice in his head.  In his wire actually.  Angelic laughter. 

            “Jitsui!” Miyoshi shouted.  When Sakuma looked back at him, he almost laughed.  Miyoshi looked like an angry cat that had just had the hose turned on it.  Of course Sakuma himself probably looked no better.

            “Sorry, Miyoshi.  Detective,” said Jitsui through their wires, between laughs.  “I was conducting a test.  You just happened to step in the middle of it.”

            “More like you waited until we were both in the line of fire,” said Sakuma dryly. 

            “Yes,” laughed Jitsui.  “I did.”

            “I hope, at least,” said Miyoshi, trying to fix his hair with his fingers, “that your test has proven successful.”

            “Yes,” said Jitsui.  “It worked perfectly.  Thank you for asking.”

            “What exactly are you testing?” Sakuma asked, trying to think of practical reasons for rigging fire sprinklers that way.  He was pretty sure that it was a violation of the fire code . . . but then, he was no fire marshal. 

            “You’re probably happier not knowing, Detective,” said Jitsui.

            He was probably right.

            “And just in case you’re worrying that I’m violating the fire code, please let me assure you, I’m not,” Jitsui continued.  “D-Agency’s sprinkler coverage is thirty-five percent over what the code requires of us, casino-wide.  So hijacking these two sprinklers for an evening is not endangering anyone or anything . . . excepting, of course, your suits.  And Miyoshi’s hair.  But those fall into the category of acceptable casualties as far as I’m concerned.”

            And that was just creepy.  Sakuma couldn’t help but wonder if Jitsui could read minds. 

            “Well . . . that’s good to know,” said Sakuma.  “About you being up to fire code.”

            “You might have thought a bit harder before ruining the detective’s suit, Jitsui,” said Miyoshi, still sounding ill tempered.  “He only has so many.”

            “Don’t worry, Detective.  I’ll buy you a new one,” promised Jitsui.

            “Please don’t,” said Sakuma.  “I told Miyoshi already.  I can’t afford to look like I’m on the take.  And you guys can’t afford for me to look like I’m on the take either.”

            “I’m pretty sure your superiors in the Metro will see it as a sign of you being in our favor and think it’s a good thing,” said Jitsui.

            “Unless they don’t.  In which case I get investigated by Internal Affairs,” said Sakuma.  “I don’t need that hanging over me for the rest of my career.”  However long his career lasted.

            “Well, if you ever get canned as a cop, there’s always a job for you here at D-Agency Hotel and Casino,” said Jitsui cheerfully.

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi.  “And you know we pay much better.”

            Damn career criminals and their damned temptations.  They would be the death of him.  Sakuma just knew it.

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Sakuma.  Then he pulled off his jacket, which was still dripping heavily, and stepped out of the puddle on the floor around him and Miyoshi.

            “Please do,” said Miyoshi.  “And . . .”  Suddenly Miyoshi’s voice sounded odd and trailed off.  Sakuma looked at him in concern.  But nothing seemed to be wrong with Miyoshi.  He was just staring at Sakuma.  More specifically . . . he was staring at how Sakuma’s wet shirt was plastered to his abs.

            Sakuma didn’t know whether he should turn away in embarrassment or preen.  He was aware that he did have very nice abs.  He’d worked hard for them.  It wasn’t too vulgar to be proud that someone as high class as Miyoshi appreciated them, right?

            There was giggling through his wire again.  Jitsui.  Damn him.

            “Detective,” Jitsui said, “Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off?  Go home and take a shower in the privacy of your own home.”

            “You make it sound like I wanted a shower here at all,” said Sakuma, exasperated.

            Jitsui just laughed.

            “But I think I will take you up on that offer,” said Sakuma.  “As long as you’re alright with that, Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi’s expression turned dismayed.  For a second, Sakuma thought he would refuse. 

            Then Miyoshi got hit with another high powered jet of water, right in the face.

            He spluttered and staggered out of the way.  _“Jitsui!”_

            “Sorry, I’m not sorry,” said Jitsui.  “I thought that you too needed another shower.  A cold one.”

            “Right,” said Sakuma, turning his back to Miyoshi and heading for the door.  “I’m going home.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Tazaki was meticulous when it came to his gear.  The equipment that he used for his tricks had to be in perfect working order.  Any flaw in it, such as a fraying of rope, could lead to disaster.  The history of stage magic was full of tragedies that could have been prevented if people had only paid better attention to their gear.  Tazaki would not be one of them.  He had everything he needed for tomorrow night spread out in the work room, since the lighting was good there, and it was a big, wide open space where he wouldn’t bother anyone with his stuff all over the place.  That was where he usually went over his gear, though usually there wasn’t a giant green filming set in the middle of the room.  But it wasn’t like that bothered Tazaki.

            He was going over every inch of his climbing ropes, checking to make sure they weren’t frayed anywhere, when he realized that he wasn’t alone.  Hatano was crouched down beside him, watching silently, but looking like there was something he wanted to say.

            “How long have you been there?” Tazaki asked, acknowledging him.

            “Awhile,” Hatano answered vaguely. 

            “Is everything alright?” asked Tazaki next.  He glanced around but didn’t see Jitsui anywhere in sight.

            “Yes.  Everything’s fine,” said Hatano.  “Jitsui is testing out the alterations to the sprinkler heads.  It was mostly boring waiting.  And he promised to record the interesting parts for me.”

            “Let me see that too,” Tazaki requested.

            “Alright,” Hatano readily agreed.  He still had that look on his face, like there was more he wanted to talk about.  Tazaki didn’t know if he should try to prompt him to say it, or let him get to it on his own. 

            “Are you alright?” asked Tazaki after a minute of internal debate.  He knew he shouldn’t push Hatano to talk, but he also didn’t want the kid to change his mind and leave, since there was clearly something weighing down on him.

            “Yes.  I’m fine,” said Hatano.  Then he hesitated before asking, “Are you?”

            “Sorry, what?”

            “Are you okay?” asked Hatano.

            “Yes, I’m fine,” said Tazaki.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

            “You’ve been . . . angry lately,” said Hatano.

            “Hm?  I don’t think I’ve really been angry,” said Tazaki.  “Certainly not at you or anyone else in D-Agency.”

            “I know,” said Hatano, “but you have been angry.  When you talk about the painting.  It’s like you’re smoldering inside.”

            Oh.  Now Tazaki thought he knew what Hatano meant.  But Hatano was talking again, before Tazaki could speak.

            “I was wondering, and I know that it might . . . not be my business, so if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but I thought . . .  It seems like this is personal for you somehow,” said Hatano.  “But I don’t know how.”

            Tazaki reached out to pat the top of Hatano’s head briefly, to let him know that it was okay that he’d asked this.  He wasn’t upset.  Not with Hatano anyway.  “It is personal.  And I am angry.  Not enough to let it consume me.  Not anymore.  But this is one of those things that I see, that I think is really wrong.  And I just can’t leave the way it is.  If I thought that I could actually change the system and fix it, I’d probably be doing that.  But I started down that road once before.  And I realized there was no end to it.  It’s one of those things where if you try to do things by the book, you get nowhere.  The systems are just too messed up.  There are too many loopholes.  The world needs another answer.  And stunts like this, those are my answer.”

            Hatano still looked troubled and confused.  “I don’t understand.”

            Tazaki smiled sadly.  “I guess it goes back to it being personal for me.  I . . . I never told you what happened to my parents, did I?”

            Hatano shook his head.  “But you don’t have to if it’s something painful.  I don’t want to pry.”

            “It’s alright,” said Tazaki.  “I don’t mind telling you.”

            Tazaki’s story was a sad one, but his wounds weren’t raw anymore.  Every man at D-Agency had scars in his past.  Most of them didn’t talk about them anymore than they absolutely had to.  Tazaki knew what had happened to most of his colleagues, and how it had led to them ending up here at D-Agency.  Like how Odagiri still loathed the Metro and blamed their corruption for the death of his wife.  And how Miyoshi was still searching for answers about exactly who he needed to wreak havoc on in vengeance for what had happened to him before Yuuki-san adopted him.  But Tazaki had been at D-Agency longer than Hatano had.  And Tazaki was the kind of person who people opened up to with their problems.  Hatano had been a traumatized kid as long as they’d known him.  He’d been getting better all the time, up until that fiasco last month.  But he wasn’t someone who the men of D-Agency felt like they should burden with their worst problems and the nightmares from their pasts.  Not when he was still healing from his own.  So Hatano still didn’t know how all of the others had ended up at D-Agency.  Well, Tazaki thought it was time to share his story.  He thought that right now, Hatano needed to know.

            “My father was my hero,” Tazaki told Hatano, setting down his gear so that he could devote his full attention to his story.  “He worked really hard to support our family, so I didn’t see a whole lot of him.  Most of the time he was away on business.  But I never doubted that he loved my mom and me, because when he was at home, he wanted to spend every waking minute with us.  He was the one who got me hooked on magic.  There was a magic show, and he’d gotten tickets for it, for Mom, and me, and him.  And when he saw how much I loved it, after the show, he bought me one of those kits with the booklet that teaches you how to do a few tricks and the props you need to actually do them.  And for Halloween, he took me around to five different stores before we found the perfect magician costume for me.  Er, but I’m going off topic.  Sorry,” he said ruefully.

            “He sounds really nice,” said Hatano, smiling at Tazaki a bit shyly.

            “He was,” said Tazaki.  Then his expression darkened a bit.  “I was still in elementary school when he died.  I was there . . . you’re too young to remember- no, you wouldn’t have been born yet.  But there was a big earthquake in California.  Dad was home that weekend, and was taking me and Mom on a trip out of the city.  We were on a train, going through a tunnel, when the earthquake struck.  Rocks fell down on the tracks.  The train hit some of them and came to a hard halt.  Not a real wreck, but some people who’d been out of their seats had gotten hurt.  Mom, Dad, and I were mostly alright.  We had to get off the train and get out of the tunnel, on foot.  We knew the tunnel wasn’t safe, because parts of the ceiling, those rocks, had fallen down.  So Dad got Mom and I outside.  Then he went back in to help carry out the people who were hurt and couldn’t move on their own.  That was when an aftershock struck, and the whole tunnel collapsed.”

            Tazaki jumped slightly when Hatano seized his hand without warning. 

            “I’m alright,” Tazaki told the kid.  “It happened a long time ago.  It doesn’t hurt to talk about it anymore.  I’m proud of my Dad.  He died a hero.”  He kept his selfish thoughts to himself.  Including how, for many years, he’d wished his dad had just been a hero to him.  And not the three other people he’d carried off the train, before going back for one of the few remaining injured passengers.  There had been plenty of other abled bodied people who had stood by, and not gone back to help the injured.  If Tazaki’s dad had been one of them, he wouldn’t have died that day.  For a long time, Tazaki had resented that fact.  He’d been angry at his father for it.  But later his anger had shifted to those other abled bodied people who had stood by and done nothing.  Because if just a few of them had made one trip back, or if several more had helped injured people out of the tunnel as they were leaving the tunnel, then everyone would have gotten out before it collapsed.  And Tazaki’s father wouldn’t have had to die. 

            “Afterwards . . . you know what life insurance is, right?”

            Hatano nodded.

            Tazaki had thought so, but he hadn’t been sure.  Spending five years in a cage had left some understandable holes in Hatano’s education and vocabulary.  He’d done a remarkable job of catching up, but every now and then they ran into something that the rest of them all took for granted that everyone would know, but that Hatano had no idea what they were talking about.

            “Well, Dad had life insurance.  He wanted to make sure that Mom and I were taken care of if anything happened to him.  So he paid the fees for it every month, without fail.  But there was a clause in his policy.  A line that said that if he killed himself then his policy was null and void.”

            “But he didn’t kill himself,” Hatano protested.

            “I know,” said Tazaki, unable to help letting a little anger seep into his voice, even after so many years.  “I know.  But the insurance company said he did.  They said that because he willingly went back into the tunnel, knowing it was a potentially deadly situation, that nullified his policy.”

            “Did they at least give you back what he’d paid them every month?” Hatano asked.

            Tazaki shook his head.  “It doesn’t work that way.”

            “Do you want me to kill them for you?”

            “No,” said Tazaki quickly.  He shouldn’t have found the offer as touching as he did.  “I got my pound of flesh from them eventually.  But that was years later.  Back then, Mom and I had to sell our house and move into an apartment, and Mom had to get a job.  I don’t think I ever told you, but my mom was in a wheel chair.  All her life.  It was nobody’s fault.  She was just born that way.  So there were a lot of jobs that she couldn’t get.  And with Dad working, she was able to be a stay at home mom and take care of me.  But after Dad died, she had to get a job.  The one that she got was at a company that salvaged computer parts.  But she didn’t know at the time that a lot of the materials that computer parts are made of are dangerous, if you don’t handle them properly.”

            By the way Hatano was nodding, Tazaki could see that he knew this.  Of course.  Jitsui would know that.  And Jitsui would make sure Hatano knew, so that Hatano would never end up inhaling traces of lead or mercury. 

            “The company she worked for cut a lot of corners for safety procedures,” said Tazaki.  “And when I was in college, she got really sick because of it.  We needed money to pay for her medical expenses.  She had health insurance, but her insurance company said that the money needed to come from her employer’s insurance, because they were the ones at fault for this.  And her employer’s insurance said that the money had to first come from her health insurance.  It was a horrible situation.  I couldn’t get either insurance company to pay us what we needed, and the doctors wouldn’t see my mother without it.  In the end, my mom died, because she couldn’t get treatment.  Because of that fucking stupid system.”

            Hatano squeezed Tazaki’s hand.  Tazaki squeezed back, appreciating the gesture.  And the silence.  There were no words that could make something like that better.  Any attempts were always just so awkward.

            “So that’s why I’m angry about the painting,” said Tazaki.  “Or more accurately, about the system surrounding it.  Laws were created to make sure that the art and heirlooms stolen from the Jews by the Nazis were returned to them.  But there are so many loopholes in those laws, and so many ways around them that they might as well not even exist.  Laws and systems are supposed to help and protect people.  Not hurt them.  So when they fail people like this . . .”

            “That’s where you come in,” said Hatano.  “That’s why the world needs people like you.”

            “People like _us,”_ corrected Tazaki.  Because that’s why he was at D-Agency.  Because contrary to what Johann thought, his colleagues weren’t all a bunch of homicidal maniacs, shattering laws and kneecapping people just for looking at them wrong.  They weren’t saints or anything of the sort.  But it was no accident that they were all where they were right now.  Doing what they were doing right now.  As Miyoshi liked to say, the worm will turn. 

            And now it was going to turn on those who would keep this painting from its rightful owner. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Notes:  I know the first scene seemed like blatant fanservice, lol.  But I promise it does serve a purpose.  And next chapter is the heist!  (But don’t worry, even after they’ve got the painting, the arc is still a few chapters from being over.  Because magic tricks!)

 

I might not be going about writing this the best way.  A movie would definitely do this differently.  With a montage, lol.  So you’d be able to see the planning steps without having them explained, per say.  The way I’m writing this kind of feels like I’m giving spoilers the whole way through, lol.  When Tazaki finally puts on his show, you’re going to know exactly how they did it, so it will be kind of like watching a magic trick where you know how the trick is performed.  So some of the magic will be missing from the show, for you, but hopefully there will still be a surprise or two in the act that will amuse you. 

 

Next chapter will probably be up next week around this time.  But while you’re waiting for it, please enjoy this new piece of fanart by Tivanny.  It’s Tazaki in glasses!  Like he was wearing back in Part 1 of this arc, as he was reading over Johann’s intel on the painting they were planning to steal.  My headcannon is that Tazaki has a little bit of trouble reading for long periods of time without reading glasses, but that he’s a little bit self conscious of them.  But he really doesn’t need to be self conscious about them, because as you can see from Tivanny’s pic, he looks great in them: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/151190314036>

 

 


	20. Tazaki's Arc: Part 6

            There was a feeling that settled over Tazaki every time he stole something big.  It was the same feeling he got every time he went onstage for a magic show, with a new trick to show off to the world.  A thrill that buzzed in his veins and made the world seem that much sharper.  He had been at this for almost a decade now, and it still had lost none of the excitement he’d felt when he pulled off his very first heist.

            Jitsui sat beside him in the car as he drove.  The younger boy seemed perfectly serene.  He showed not a single sign of nerves or excitement as they neared the building where their target awaited.  Which was typical of him.  Jitsui was very good at controlling his emotions when he wanted to be.  It took something very extreme to rattle him.  He’d always had that talent.  Even the very first time Tazaki had met him.  Speaking of which . . .

            “This seems kind of like old times, doesn’t it?” Tazaki said, smirking.

            “You’re referring to our first meeting?” asked Jitsui, looking at him with a little bit of interest.

            “Yeah,” said Tazaki. 

            “Then I can’t completely agree,” said Jitsui.  “We’ve both come a very long way since that time you arrested me while impersonating a police officer.”

            Tazaki made a face.  “You make it sound like I was doing something bad.”

            “You were.  We both were.”

            “Doing something bad to you, I mean.  I saved your skinny little butt back then.  But that aside, I don’t think we’re all that different,” said Tazaki.  “So this feels very similar to me.”

            “Hm,” said Jitsui, smiling slightly.  “Yes, I can see how for you the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.  But for me, everything feels different.  I don’t think I’m the same person I was back then, anymore.”

            “I think you are.  You’ve just found your place.  That makes all the difference,” said Tazaki.

            Jitsui looked up at him solemnly.  “It just occurred to me that I never thanked you for bringing me into D-Agency.”

            Tazaki glanced at him sideways.  “You more or less let yourself in.”  That had been interesting trying to explain to the others.  He was lucky D-Agency wasn’t your typical mafia outfit.  Then again, if they were, he never would have joined up with them, no matter what they had to offer him.  So Jitsui would never have come storming in to try to save him. 

            “Even so, you did facilitate my joining,” said Jitsui.  “And I am grateful.  I never expected to . . . well, to have any of what I have now.”  And Tazaki knew he wasn’t talking about money, at all.  All Jitsui had ever wanted was someplace to belong, and some decent people to belong there with.  In D-Agency, he’d found the family he’d been missing all his life. 

            The moment could have gotten a little awkward.  Since they were both grown men, and talking about feelings and how they were family now didn’t come easily to either of them.  But Jitsui found an out for them before things actually got awkward.

            “I’ll express my thanks by helping you steal a multi-million dollar painting,” he said solemnly.  “That should make us even.”

            “More or less,” agreed Tazaki.

            “And by cross dressing for the cause.  Repeatedly.”

            “And I thank you for it.”

            “Don’t get so sentimental that you miss where we’re supposed to park.”

            “I’m not,” said Tazaki quickly.  Honestly though, he very nearly had.  They had scouted out a full two-mile radius around the auction house before they chose their parking space.  They’d wanted to make sure they avoided traffic cameras, security cameras, and ATMs (which also had cameras).  And they also wanted to make sure that they parked somewhere where their getaway car wouldn’t get towed.  In the end, they had decided to play it safe, and park in the lot of an Italian restaurant that D-Agency owned.  Either because Yuuki-san had a taste for Italian food or irony.  Tazaki had never been sure which.  But whichever the reason, their getaway car would be safe there.  The owner was trustworthy and the staff knew better than to ask questions.  And their security cameras, if anyone bothered to check them after the heist, would show pre-recordered footage that Jitsui had fed into their system.  Un-incriminating footage. 

            Tazaki parked the car, and he and Jitsui both got out.  They began walking in silence, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of anything amiss, and angling their faces away from any street cameras they passed.  A lone police car drove by as they were making their way to the auction house, but didn’t stop or even slow down, noticing them.  Vegas was a city that thrived on its night life.  Even if they’d been staggering and obviously drunk, there were even odds that they would have been ignored.  Them walking casually, even at this hour, wasn’t even taken note of.  Once they reached the auction house itself, they scaled its perimeter fence, in one of the blind spots they’d scouted out, easy as pie, and proceeded to the nearest corner. 

            Then came the tricky part.  Scaling the building.  Hatano or Kaminaga would have shimmied up it so fast, they’d have reached the top in less time than they would have spent taking the stairs.  And they would have done it bare handed.  Jitsui and Tazaki weren’t that good.  They needed climbing equipment.  Grappling hooks on climbing cord, to be exact.  Both had enough practice breaking into buildings this way, but Jitsui’s throws needed work.  To save time, Tazaki cast both lines, one after the other, then after testing them to make sure they were set, he handed one to Jitsui and they both started climbing. 

            “You know, right now in my mind, I can hear Hatano and Kaminaga jeering at us,” said Jitsui as they pulled themselves up the rope. 

            “So can I,” admitted Tazaki, softly.  “Come on, old ladies!  Can’t you move any faster?  What are you, snails?”

            Jitsui snickered, then stopped talking.  Tazaki too.  Climbing four stories wasn’t too hard for men in good condition like they were, but that didn’t mean it was overly easy either.  Tazaki reached the top first, then waited for Jitsui, ready with a hand to haul him up over the edge as soon as he was within reach.  Jitsui nodded in thanks, then crouched down and pulled off the laptop he’d strapped to his back.  He opened it and started it up.  Minutes later, he was inside the auction house’s security system.  On his screen were the feeds of all the security cameras in the auction house, including the ones in their security office.  Jitsui blew that one up larger on the screen so they could get an accurate count.  Tazaki had the general idea that all four of the guards on duty were supposed to be on different floors, keeping an eye on the place.  Instead they were gathered around a big, clunky laptop together, watching . . .

            “Eww,” said Tazaki, averting his eyes from the screen.

            “How is that not awkward?” Jitsui wondered out loud. 

            “Let’s not dwell on it,” said Tazaki.  “It’s better for us that they’re distracted.”

            “Yes,” said Jitsui.  He shrunk their screen feed then went back to work. 

            “Though I can’t help but wish Kaminaga were here to commentate on it,” added Tazaki.

            Jitsui snickered as his fingers typed rapidly.  Tazaki didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but he knew the gist of it.  Jitsui could do things like loop footage, or freeze it, while keeping the time stamps on the cameras moving the way they were supposed to.  He was doing that now, for every camera on the second, third, and fourth floors of the auction house.

            “All cameras have been taken care of,” said Jitsui after several minutes.  “At least any camera we might walk past.  Stay off the ground floor.”

            “Right,” said Tazaki.

            Jitsui continued his hacking for several more minutes, before reporting that all alarms had been disabled.  Then he pulled out a tablet.  He started it up, tapped on the screen a few dozen times, then handed it to Tazaki.  On its screen was the feed from the security office.  All four guards were still gathered around the same laptop.

            “Why would you give me this?” asked Tazaki miserably, as he accepted it. 

            “So we’ll know if they leave,” said Jitsui, smirking.

            “Sadist,” muttered Tazaki, as they stood and walked across the roof.  They stopped above the fourth floor’s balcony, where Tazaki tied off a line, so they could climb back up it on their exit, then they slid down and entered.

            There was always a tense moment, when you opened a door that you knew should have set off an alarm.  At least there was for Tazaki.  Even though he knew Jitsui had disabled it, and he trusted Jitsui implicitly, he could never shake that little moment of near panic.  But, once again, Jitsui delivered, as promised.  No alarm went off when Tazaki pushed the balcony door inward.  And on the tablet in his hand, none of the guards looked up from their adult movie. 

            Jitsui elbowed Tazaki, annoyed, like he knew what Tazaki had been thinking.  Tazaki gave his friend a sheepish smile, then proceeded inside.  On their way down to the second floor, they passed by a maintenance closet on the third floor, where a ladder was kept, as per Kaminaga’s intel.  They carted it down to the second floor, being very careful with it not to hit any walls or knock over any of the other merchandise, until they reached the viewing room, where Sunflower Fields was on display. 

            It was then Tazaki’s turn to peel his luggage off his back, as Jitsui double checked that the motion sensors were deactivated, then positioned the ladder in place.  Tazaki wasn’t wearing a standard backpack.  It was more of a modified attache case, far more slender than a regular backpack.  And more protected.  Tazaki opened it carefully and pulled Miyoshi’s forgery out of the case.  As he moved to the ladder, Jitsui passed him, carrying the real painting, which he carefully placed in the case where the forgery had laid moments earlier, and closed it up.  Then he gave the thumbs up sign to Tazaki, who had just finished hanging the fake on the wall.  Miyoshi really had done a wonderful job.  Tazaki couldn’t help but admire it, once he was off the ladder, standing where he and Jitsui had stood a few days ago during their recon mission.  His fake was indistinguishable from the original.

            Jitsui made a soft, exasperated, huffing noise, drawing Tazaki’s attention.  Then he quickly hurried over to help Jitsui reposition the ladder so he had access to one of the sprinklers.  And he held it steady as Jitsui quickly scaled it and began swapping out one of the sprinkler heads for one he had modified.  Within a minute, he was back down, and Tazaki moved the ladder for him to the other sprinkler head he planned to replace. 

            And at first, that seemed to be going fine too.  Jitsui obviously knew what he was doing, and it didn’t seem too difficult to install them, but it was tech, and Jitsui was possessive about his tech, preferring to take care of all of it himself.  So far, everything had gone smoothly.  And Tazaki was starting to think this would be one of those ops where everything worked out exactly the way they planned for it to.  Contrary to what Hollywood movies would have you believe, sometimes everything did go according to the plan.

            Just not this time.  Because as Jitsui was stepping down the ladder, the third step from the top gave under his weight.  Unbeknownst to Tazaki and Jitsui, the ladder was old and poorly maintained.  The bolts holding the rungs of it in place were rusted.  It was an accident waiting to happen.  So naturally, it happened at the worst possible time.

            Jitsui fell.  From high up.  Tazaki realized what was happening, but it was over too quickly for him to do anything.  But he did try.  He lunged around the ladder, trying to break Jitsui’s fall.  But he was too far away, and hadn’t been able to move fast enough.  Jitsui hit the ground with a loud, painful thud.

            “Jitsui!” Tazaki dropped down beside his friend, trying to fight back panic.  That was the first word he’d spoken since entering the auction house.  Which made it seem so much louder.  But it had been nothing compared to the noise Jitsui’s body had made when it impacted against the floor.

            Jitsui gave a pained groan and rolled over.

            “Where are you hurt?” asked Tazaki, reaching out to touch the side of his friend’s head without thinking.  And then he started thinking, and it was worse.  Had Jitsui hit his head?  Did he have a concussion?  He didn’t feel any bumps under Jitsui’s hair but those took awhile to form sometimes, right?

            “Leg,” hissed Jitsui.  “Ankle.  Tablet.”

            His leg and ankle.  Tazaki immediately looked to the wounded appendages.  They didn’t seem to be at unnatural angles, so hopefully they weren’t broken.  But tablet?  What did he mean?  Oh.

            Tazaki quickly picked up his tablet.  What he saw made him groan.  The security office was empty.  The adult movie on the laptop paused.  Which meant all four guards would be sweeping the display rooms, looking for signs of anything amiss.

            “Take the ladder and go,” ordered Jitsui, and he started to crawl.

            “I’m not leaving you –”

            “Tazaki!  Get the ladder, and the painting, and go!  Trust me!”

            Tazaki did trust Jitsui.  Implicitly.  But it still rankled, leaving him behind.  “Swear to me you won’t get caught.”

            Jitsui had reached his laptop.  “I won’t get caught,” he growled.  “Now go.”

            Tazaki obeyed, folding up the ladder, laying it down on its side, then lifting it from the middle.  Jitsui had grabbed the broken rung.  The last Tazaki saw of him, when he looked back over his shoulder, was Jitsui hobbling over to a chest with antique brass fittings.  Not a very big chest.  Tazaki wouldn’t have fit into it.  But Jitsui would.

            With that at least off Tazaki’s mind, he hurried up the stairs, carting the unwieldy ladder the best he could, up to the third floor.  The maintenance closet was at the opposite end of the building.  He might have had time to make it there with the ladder, if the guards had been using the stairs too.  But halfway there, Tazaki heard a very scary sound.  The chiming of the elevator.

            He and Jitsui had decided against using the elevator for their plan themselves, determining it too loud and risky.  He wished now that they had thought to disable it somehow before they got started, since they weren’t using it.  Because now he was right about to be caught.  His only saving grace was that it was a cargo elevator.  Meant to lift heavy things like pianos.  Which meant that for safety reasons, it moved slower.  Which gave Tazaki precious extra seconds.  He looked around, trying to will a way out into existence.

            Then he saw it.  The doors to the third floor balcony.  Tazaki dashed to them, dragging the ladder behind him, opened them both, pulled the ladder out, then pulled both the doors shut behind him.  Right as the elevator doors opened.  Tazaki got a glimpse of one of the security guards through the crack, right before the balcony doors clicked shut.  And that glimpse let him see the suspicion on the security guard’s face.  Not positive that he’d seen something.  But he thought he had.  And he was going to check.

            Tazaki quickly set up the ladder and climbed it.  The fourth floor balcony was just above him.  He could pull the ladder up behind him.  It would be tricky, but it was doable.  He just had to move fast or it would all be for nothing.  But he had to be careful.  The ladder was already missing a step.  If another one broke, Tazaki could likely be taking a three story fall.

            He made it to the top, then threaded an extra grappling line around the top step, then reached for the balcony above him.  His fingertips were only just able to reach over the edge of it, to touch its floor.  He had to take a leap of faith and jump in order to get enough of his hands up onto it that he could get traction.  But it worked, and he was able to pull himself up over the edge.  But there was no time to breathe a sigh of relief.  He grabbed the rope and hauled the ladder up after him, until he could grab onto the sides of it, then pull it up the rest of the way faster, by flipping it over the rail, as though the ladder was a seesaw, and the railing was its fulcrum.  And none too soon.  Below him the balcony door opened.  And then a blaring alarm cut through the night.  A normal man might have been startled into dropping the ladder.  Thankfully, Tazaki had nerves of steel. 

            Bless you, Jitsui, he thought, smirking, very proud of his friend.  He could guess what was going on.  Jitsui was watching through the security cameras’ real footage.  He’d seen Tazaki go out the door.  Then he saw the guard follow him out, and so he’d turned back on the alarm.  Otherwise the game could have been up right there.  The guard could have realized that if that alarm was off, that their alarm system had been hacked.

            Below him he heard cursing.  Then beeping.  The sound of a security code being entered into a number pad.  Then a voice, speaking into a radio.

            “Yeah, that was just me.  It was a false alarm.  I opened the balcony door, just to check, and forgot to disarm it first.”

            That was too close.  But Tazaki knew better than to breathe any sights of relief yet.  As soon as he heard the door close behind the guard, he pulled the ladder the rest of the way up onto the fourth floor balcony.  Then he climbed again, up to the roof.  And dragged the ladder up after him again for good measure.  There he sank down until he was sitting, more exhausted than he should have been by that bit of action.  Tazaki’s nerves may have been made of steel, but he still came down off an adrenaline high just like any other man. 

            He took out his tablet after a few moments of simply breathing, and regaining his energy.  The security feed still showed all the guards missing.  But there was a message for him from Jitsui in red letters on the screen too.  It read: I assume that you’re on the roof.  Stay there.

            Tazaki didn’t know how to reply back.  But even if he had, he didn’t know if he would have.  He could imagine Jitsui cramped up in that chest, madly hacking, switching the camera feeds from the looped footage back to regular footage, so the security tapes would show the guards moving around like anyone watching must know they were.  He wondered if Jitsui had managed to cut the footage for that room on the third floor on, just in time to catch the guard coming out of the elevator but not so quickly that he caught Tazaki fleeing.  Then he felt stupid for wondering.  This was Jitsui.  Of course Jitsui had.

            But even though he had complete faith in his friend, waiting was hell.  And Tazaki was left up there to wait for too damned long.  It felt like hours.  In actuality, it was only half of one.  Then, without warning, Jitsui appeared below him, on the fourth floor balcony.

            “Tazaki,” he called softly.  “Toss me the line.”

            Tazaki had pulled the rope up after him once he got the ladder onto the roof.  Just in case someone looked out the fourth floor balcony.  He threw it back down to Jitsui and peered at him over the edge.  “Are you alright?”

            “Yes,” said Jitsui, his voice sharp with pain.

            “How badly are you hurt?”

            “Nothing’s broken.  Just bruised.  I’ll be alright.”  True to his words, Jitsui made it to the top of the rope, then let Tazaki pull him up the rest of the way again. 

            “Are you going to be able to climb down on your own alright?” asked Tazaki.

            “Yes.”

            “You’re sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “Alright then.”  Tazaki left it at that.  Jitsui wasn’t too proud to speak up when he needed help.  If he’d needed to, Tazaki would have carried Jitsui down on his back.  But Jitsui seemed certain he was okay. 

            “And now the million dollar question,” said Jitsui.  “What are we going to do with the ladder?”

            The idea of lowering it back down onto one of the balconies and dragging it back inside seemed too exhausting after everything that had happened.  And maybe it was just superstitious to think so, but Tazaki had the feeling that something bad would happen if they went back inside.  He could tell Jitsui thought so too.  Which was why he had taken it for granted that they wouldn’t be taking it back to the maintenance closet.

            “We can leave it here.  The Metro will find it when they turn the whole building into a crime scene, but it doesn’t have our finger prints on it.  They can’t tie it to us,” said Tazaki.  Both he and Jitsui were wearing gloves.  “Or we could lower it down to the ground.  Leave it outside the grounds care shed and call it a night.”

            “Let’s do that,” said Jitsui.  Tazaki agreed.  It expended a bit more energy, but it was preferable to them than to leave it somewhere that it would be linked to their crime, even if it couldn’t be traced back to them. 

            “Are you ready to move?” asked Tazaki, offering Jitsui a hand to help him up.

            Jitsui shook his head.  “I need five minutes.  And a cup of coffee.”

            Tazaki lowered his hand.  “You can have your five minutes.  The coffee will have to wait.”

 

* * *

 

 

Notes:  You know how sometimes you think something’s going to take a good long while, but then you get started and it all flows so perfectly that you’re done in less than half the time you thought it would take?  Happily, that’s what happened with this chapter, and why it’s being posted this week, instead of next, like I thought it would be.  I hope you enjoyed it, even if it might not have been quite what you were expecting.  The arc is still at least three chapters from being finished, so don’t worry.  It’s not over yet.  The real fun is in the big reveal, which is yet to come.  This chapter was just one of the middle phases of their plan, after recon and preparation.  They have a little more preparation to do now, which will probably be just one more chapter, and then they’ll be moving into the final phase of their plan. 

 

What you have to look forward to: more cross dressing (and not just by Jitsui), Tazaki in his magician’s hat, miniature sunflower boutineers (boutineer = flower pinned to the lapel of a jacket), and Mayor Gordon getting trolled D-Agency style.  :)

 

But in the meantime, please check out this beautiful piece of fan art by theholyme, of Jitsui in his skimpy, sparkly, sequin covered dress, complete with a wig and makeup, exactly as he’s going to look the night of Tazaki’s special show.  He’s actually got on a little more makeup than I had planned, but now I have to figure out a way to incorporate that lipstick mark on his thigh, lol.  Because that is just perfect.  <http://theholyme.tumblr.com/image/151336839990>

 


	21. Tazaki's Arc: Part 7

            “Is it wrong that we’ve got it hanging on our wall?” asked Amari, as the men of D-Agency all admired the stolen painting that was currently hanging on the wall of their favorite lounge down in Sublevel-D.  “It feels kind of wrong.”

            “I don’t see why it’s wrong,” said Miyoshi.  “It’s only temporary.”

            “It just feels like the honor of hanging it on their wall should go to its real owner,” said Amari.  “Although I guess that’s not really possible for her anymore.  Since the painting’s so expensive and will soon be famous.  It won’t be safe anywhere without a state of the art security system at the very least.”

            “All the more reason why we should enjoy it hanging on our wall,” said Kaminaga.  “Someone should.  Otherwise, it’s a waste.”

            “Plus I think it’s our right as its liberators to display it how we see fit, while it’s in our custody,” said Jitsui, from his place on the sofa.  He was laying there, sprawled out and relaxing after the night’s ordeal.  Hatano sat on the sofa as well, Jitsui’s feet resting on his lap, as he held an ice pack in place on Jitsui’s ankle.

            Jitsui had slept on the ride back to D-Agency while Tazaki drove.  When they arrived home, both were concerned to find Jitsui’s ankle had swollen as he slept.  Not too terribly.  He could still walk on it.  And the official diagnosis after a close inspection was that he’d only strained it, not sprained or broken it.  Fukumoto believed the swelling would have gone down completely by tomorrow afternoon, or the day after at the latest.  Any bruising or discoloration could be easily hidden with makeup, so the next phase of their plan remained unaltered.  For which Tazaki was very glad.  Because getting one of his friends hurt when they were trying to help him would have made him feel horrible.  And recasting Jitsui’s role would have been . . . well, it would have been a headache.  So he was glad that Jitsui’s injury was so minor.  And he knew Jitsui was too, even though it meant he had more cross dressing to do in the near future.  At least he could enjoy getting fawned over by Hatano for a day or two.

            “We are getting it back for her,” agreed Tazaki.  “I don’t think she has any cause to complain, so long as we don’t damage it.  Which we’re not.  Besides, it’s only there for tonight.  Then you take it to its new home.”

            “Yes,” Amari said.  “Though I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised you’re so willing to entrust a priceless painting like this to a conman like me.”

            “It’s only because if you disappear with it, we all know I’ll empty all your bank accounts,” said Jitsui, not missing a beat. 

            “Yeah, I guess there’s that,” Amari laughed. 

            “And then I’d track you down and make your life a technological hell,” Jitsui added.

            “There is that too.”

            “Before finally taking control of your state of the art and oh so hackable car, and remotely driving it off a cliff with you in it.”

            Amari laughed again.  “I’ll have to remember to get myself an old car if I ever try to go on the run from Jitsui.”

            “That won’t save you,” said Jitsui solemnly.

            Tazaki smiled as he watched the exchange.  They joked sometimes, but he had absolutely no hesitations when it came to trusting Amari with anything.  None of them did.  He had stolen some pretty major things, and his days of crime weren’t far behind him by any means, but he was one of them.  Even though anyone who sold that painting would be set for life and then some, none of them worried in the least about letting their conman be the one to deliver it.  They all knew, even if it wasn’t something they had a vested interest in, Amari wouldn’t have pulled anything.  He wouldn’t have knowingly stolen from a Holocaust survivor.  His morals weren’t very different from Tazaki’s own.  Though his reasons for turning to a life of crime in the first place . . . well, different roads often lead to the same place.

            “You’re sure you’re alright to play your role, Jitsui?” asked Hatano.  He pulled the ice pack away from Jitsui’s ankle to inspect it with big, concerned eyes.

            “I’m sure, Hatano,” said Jitsui, smiling at him.  “You don’t need to worry.”

            “Your ankle is not good,” fretted Hatano.  “You should stay off it tomorrow.  I could do the next phase for you.”

            “It’s alright –”

            “No, it’s not,” said Hatano.  “Just hear me out.”  He looked at Tazaki then Kaminaga.  “I’m big enough to wear Jitsui’s clothes now.  We’re almost the same size.  With the same wig, same makeup, and same dress no one in an audience would be able to tell us apart.  I could do the recorded scenes tomorrow so Jitsui’s ankle can heal.  That way we can be sure he’ll be better by the night of the show.  Then he can do the live acting stuff as planned.”

            The others were silent for a moment as they considered this.  Jitsui looked like he was torn between protesting and not protesting, for many different reasons.

            “It’s not a bad proposal,” said Miyoshi finally.

            “Voluntarily cross dressing for your BFF,” said Kaminaga, smirking.  “Now that’s love.”

            “But what do you think, Kaminaga?” asked Tazaki.  “Will it work?”

            “Yeah,” said Kaminaga.  “It will work.  Especially with whatever special effects Jitsui cooks up to edit the footage with.”

            “Your call then, Jitsui,” said Tazaki.  He knew better than to think that anyone but Jitsui had the final say when it came to Hatano. 

            Jitsui looked conflicted.  Tazaki could tell he was weighing his options.  On the one hand, it would be what was best for Jitsui’s ankle.  And it would be a show of faith in Hatano.  On the other, the urge to protect Hatano was still very strong in all of them.  But . . . well, Tazaki at least couldn’t see how this could cause Hatano to backslide.  It seemed safe and harmless enough to him.

            “You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Jitsui, looking solemnly at Hatano.

            “I know.  But I’m fine doing it,” said Hatano.

            “Are you sure?  You said you hated that dress.  You were scared it was trussing me up too much and making me easy prey,” Jitsui said.  “Are you sure you’ll be alright wearing it?”

            Oh.  Now Tazaki could see why Jitsui was so worried about this.  But Hatano was nodding.

            “It will only be in the workroom,” said Hatano.  “The only ones around me will be you guys.  I know none of you would ever hurt me.”

            His trust sent a pang right through Tazaki’s heart.  And judging by the others’ expressions, he hadn’t been the only one to feel it.

            “Please let me do this for you, Jitsui,” pleaded Hatano.  “Let me take care of you now.”

            “Alright,” said Jitsui finally.  “But if, at any point, you start feeling bad or scared, you have to promise to stop.  It’s alright to change your mind about this.  You understand that, right?”

            Hatano nodded, but enthusiastically rather than solemnly.  “I understand.  But it will be fine.”

            “Promise me,” Jitsui insisted.

            “I promise,” said Hatano.  “But you’ll see.  I’ll be fine.”

            Jitsui looked at Kaminaga next.  “If you make fun of him, I’ll make you regret it until this day next year.”

            Kaminaga held up his hands in surrender.

            “Then it’s settled,” said Tazaki, “Everyone get a good rest tonight.  We’ve all earned it.  Tomorrow, we’ll continue with the plan, right on schedule.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The next morning saw Hatano, Kaminaga, Jitsui, and Tazaki down in the workroom, Kaminaga with his camera, Tazaki with his cue cards, and Hatano wearing an extremely sparkly, and extremely skimpy little dress, blinged up shoes, and dolled up with a wig and makeup.

            “Blond?” Tazaki asked Jitsui, who he knew had coordinated the outfit.

            “So that with that eye makeup, it’s impossible to tell he or I are Asian,” said Jitsui. 

            “Yes.  It’s always best to pin our crimes on white people when we can,” commented Kaminaga.  His comment actually made Jitsui spit out the coffee he’d just sipped. 

            Hatano laughed at the exchange, a little breathlessly, thanks to the corset he was wearing.

            “And . . . that lipstick mark on his thigh?” asked Tazaki a little hesitantly.  Because he honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it.

            “A selling point,” said Jitsui simply.  Blatantly avoiding the point that Tazaki really wanted to know.  Because he already understood it as a selling point.  An extra little thing that added intrigue to a disguise and made it seem more real.  The kind of touch that the average person in a costume wouldn’t think to add.  Like the dark roots on the wig Jitsui had worn in his last female disguise.  Since most people would either dye their hair or just wear a single colored wig.  Not bothering to go to the extra effort of altering their roots, or wig, to make it look like they were due for a touch up.  At D-Agency, they’d learned to go the extra mile, especially for their disguises.  And that lipstick mark was definitely a good one.  Authorities would be left wondering if it was a tattoo, meant just to be cute, or if it had been left on the beautiful volunteer from the audience by another woman, which would definitely lead them on a wild goose chase when they tried to track “her” down.

            “What he wants to know is if you left it on him,” said Kaminaga, boldly going where angels feared to tread.  “Those lip marks look about the right size for your lips, but we don’t see any trace of lipstick on you.”

            Tazaki internally winced.  Even though he was curious.  He thought it would have been a little odd if Jitsui had left those lipstick marks on Hatano’s thigh, considering what Hatano was recovering from.  Especially considering what Jitsui had brought up last night, about how Hatano feared his movements being restricted by that dress and corset.  But maybe since it was Jitsui, Hatano was alright with it?  Hatano’s trust in Jitsui was absolute.

            “It’s a temporary tattoo,” said Jitsui, giving Kaminaga a very dangerous look.

            “Practical,” said Kaminaga cheerfully.  “That way it will be identical to the one on your thigh the night of the show.  Unless you want to get Hatano to leave you a personalized one.  You don’t mind doing that for Jitsui, do you Hatano?”

            “Don’t answer him,” Jitsui ordered Hatano, sparing Hatano from having to come up with a response.  “He’s stupid and should be ignored.”

            “Shall we get started?” asked Tazaki, before Kaminaga could dig himself in any deeper.  And because Hatano looked quite uncomfortable in that tiny little dress.  Physically, there was nothing wrong with him, but considering what he was afraid of, Tazaki thought it was better to get this done as quickly as possible.

            It wasn’t difficult work, thankfully.  It was just a little bit of acting, and Hatano didn’t actually have any lines.  He lip synced them at the appropriate points.  Jitsui was the one to actually say them.  The rest of what they needed Hatano to do was simply moving around a little bit on the green screen set.  At first, looking around, acting like he was bewildered.  Reaching out one hand, then jerking it back, as though he’d been shocked.  Then nodding in response to some lines that Tazaki read off his cards, which he, Tazaki, would have memorized by the day’s end.  And then Hatano walked across the set, to the far wall of it, where Miyoshi’s prop forgery of Sunflower Fields had been hung.  He ducked under a red velvet rope strung between two brass stanchions, which had been set up for realism, then dragged a large green painted box over to the wall, climbed up on top of it, and took down the painting.  Then he ducked under the stanchion again, and walked toward the camera, to the edge of the set, holding the painting.  A few more tentative steps, and then Kaminaga called cut.

            “That’s a wrap,” Kaminaga said.  “I think we’ve got everything we need.”

            And none too soon, Tazaki noticed.  Hatano’s breathing had gotten a little heavier and he was sweating slightly.  Most likely not just from the exertion of wearing the corset.  He twisted away from the hand Kaminaga tried to clap affectionately down on his head, and hurried to Jitsui, pulling off his wig, and presenting his back to his best friend.  Jitsui wasted no time unzipping him, then helping him out of the dress and corset.  Less than a minute later, Hatano was back in shorts and a t-shirt.  His bear t-shirt, that Fukumoto had given him years ago.  And which seemed to have become his security blanket, Tazaki had noticed.  He smiled a little sadly.  They did know that this would take time. 

            “We’re ready to start editing then?” asked Jitsui, acting as casual as he could.

            Kaminaga nodded and brought his camera over to where Jitsui was set up at a computer.  “And with that, my work here is done.”  He checked his watch.  “We finished early.  Good work, Hatano.”

            Hatano managed a thin smile for him.

            “Since it’s still so early, I think I’m going to go get some donuts.  You want to come?”

            “I think I’ll stay with Jitsui to help with the editing,” said Hatano.

            “Fair enough.  I’ll bring some back for you guys then?” Kaminaga said.  “Let’s see . . . cinnamon-sugar, raspberry jelly, and triple chocolate, right?” he asked pointing at Jitsui, Hatano, and then Tazaki in turn.

            “Bring me more coffee while you’re at it,” Jitsui ordered.  “Iced coffee.  A large one.”

            “If you give a mouse a cookie,” muttered Kaminaga, shaking his head, but smiling.

            “Good idea,” said Jitsui.  “Bring Hatano some milk while you’re at it too.”

            “You want anything else, Tazaki?” Kaminaga asked.

            “Just the donut’s fine,” said Tazaki. 

            “Roast pigeon it is.”

            “Hey!”

            The ploy might have been a bit obvious, but it served its purpose.  A real smile was spread across Hatano’s face as Kaminaga left, to go procure donuts, coffee, and milk for his friends.  Tazaki pulled up a chair on the other side of Jitsui and then they got down to work.

            “I think it would be cool if the effects were like the ones on Bioshock Infinite,” said Tazaki.

            “You mean when Elizabeth opens those tears in time and space?”

            “Yeah.  Can you make it look like that?”

            “Let me see what I can do.”  Jitsui then set to work, doing a lot of things that Tazaki didn’t understand.  He tried to explain what he was doing as he went along, but Tazaki was only able to understand so much of it.  Filters, he could understand.  And he knew what saturation was, but not when it came to graphic design.  Same with terms like “noise” and “distortion.”  But Hatano seemed to understand just fine and got into the conversation with Jitsui.  They came to an agreement, and then Jitsui started writing code, and set Hatano to work on a subprogram, as Tazaki pretended he knew what was going on.  Though he really didn’t, beyond that the two of them were planning to edit the footage, presumably in the way that he had suggested. 

            His vision for this trick, was to make it look like a tear had been opened up in the fabric of space and time.  He wanted it to appear to his audience as though, onstage, his beautiful volunteer from the audience had walked straight through that tear, and into a place that “she” shouldn’t have been able to walk right into while she was in plain view of everyone, right up there on the stage.  The footage that Kaminaga had filmed of Hatano on the green set, combined with green screen technology, and then a very high tech digital curtain which would be hung onstage, by wires too thin to be seen by the audience, were what Tazaki needed to pull this illusion off.  Jitsui and Hatano would be editing the footage to give it some nice special effects.  Like making it go semi-transparent at times, like the portal was unstable.  And adding some blurriness around the edges, like whatever energies were holding it open were distorting it.

            They didn’t really need Tazaki, and Tazaki knew it.  But they were doing this for him.  It seemed rude to just go off and do his own thing when they were working so hard on his behalf, even though he knew they wouldn’t mind. 

            Kaminaga returned within the hour, with their donuts and drinks.  He’d picked up a cappuccino for Tazaki too, which Tazaki appreciated.  With the hours that he was pulling these days, caffeine was very appreciated.  Kaminaga hung around with them as D-Agency’s two youngest took a short break from their work.

            “So what have you managed to get done so far?” he asked, after finishing up one of his rainbow sprinkle donuts, and as he playfully poured the remaining sprinkles off his napkin, over Hatano’s head.  Hatano, rather than get angry, tilted his head back, mouth wide open, like a baby bird, so that some of the sprinkles fell into his mouth.  Then he answered.

            “We decided on the parameters for the effects.  Now we’re writing programs to alter the footage.  We need several, and then one to make them fit all together, because we want it to look kind of shifting, like the portal isn’t completely stable.”

            “But not distorted enough that anyone who’s been to the auction house won’t recognize it immediately,” added Jitsui.

            “And we definitely have some of those people coming?” asked Kaminaga.

            “Oh yes,” said Tazaki.  “Miyoshi made sure of it.  You remember that guard who tried to refuse admittance to Miyoshi’s date?”

            “Oh Miyoshi,” said Kaminaga, looking delighted.  “He’s too cruel sometimes.”

            “Yes.  He was too scared not to accept our invitation.  His manager, who spoke with Miyoshi on the phone, declined, however.  I don’t think he likes us,” said Tazaki regretfully.

            “And how are we doing on celebrity guests for that night?” Kaminaga wanted to know.  “At least a couple of the actors from those magician-heist movies that ripped off some of your best stunts are coming, aren’t they?”

            “Yes.  But I wish you’d stop saying they ripped me off.  I consulted for their scriptwriters.  And they’re all very nice people,” said Tazaki.

            “We’ve got at least one lead actor from every box office art restitution themed movie from the last decade who’s RSVP’ed yes, as well,” said Jitsui.  “And a handful of supporting actors, directors, scriptwriters, and a few people from the crew.  Not to mention half a dozen authors who wrote books about Nazi art theft and restitution, and a further dozen notable members of different boards and museums sympathetic to the cause.  Miyoshi’s been very busy.”

            “Just to make sure, we’re not threatening all of them to get them here, are we?” asked Kaminaga.

            Hatano snickered.  Jitsui looked amused.

            “No,” answered Tazaki.  “We’re not.  We don’t need to.”

            “Offering them free first class plane tickets, a free room for the week, and complimentary room service is much more effective,” said Jitsui.

            “And they think the reason we invited them is because there’s something they can do to help get Sunflower Fields returned to its rightful owner,” added Hatano.  “Not just so that we have a bunch of celebrities to bear witness and spread the word about how we’re screwing over Mayor Gordon.”

            “Miyoshi’s still being vague with them, then,” laughed Kaminaga.  “Probably for the best.”

            “Definitely for the best,” said Jitsui, with a sweet smile.  “We wouldn’t want Mayor Gordon catching on to our plans and changing his own, would we?”

            “Particularly not a certain announcement speech he’s planning to give,” agreed Tazaki.  That comment got laughs and snickers out of all of them. 

            “I saw the programs, by the way,” said Kaminaga.  “Miyoshi finished them and was printing them off when I dropped off some donuts for him and the others.  Fukumoto and Odagiri were standing guard, making sure no one came into the copier room.  So, all the regular employees know we’re up to something.”

            “Are they scared?” asked Tazaki, slightly concerned.

            Kaminaga snorted.  “They wouldn’t work here if they were scared over something like that.  They’re all excited.  Odagiri said that the entire security team has asked to be on duty the night of whatever we’re doing is going down.  Many have said they want to know when it will be, so that they can stop by even if they’re not on duty.  Because they want to feel like they’re in on it too.”

            “That will be helpful,” said Tazaki.  He hadn’t even really given any thought to security for the event.  Not that it was really an oversight on his part or anything.  It was always going to be down to Odagiri and Miyoshi to make sure those aspects of it were covered.  But Tazaki still felt like he should have thought about that before now.  He felt a little bad, even though he knew he didn’t need to.  His friends were making this happen just as must as he was.  There were probably a lot of other little details he hadn’t thought about too.  Like the programs.  He was sure Miyoshi had done an excellent job on them.  When it came to art and graphic design, Miyoshi accepted nothing less than perfect.

            A little shiver ran down Tazaki’s spine as his two youngest friends finished up with their donut break and went back to work, and as Kaminaga started cleaning up from their snack.  Not a bad kind of shiver.  Just an excited little chill caused by the realization of just how well everything was pulling together.  Everything was just falling into place so perfectly.  Not on its own.  It was the result of a lot of hard work by all of them.  And it was definitely going to be worth all the effort they’d made. 

            The moment for the curtains to rise on A Certain Criminal Element was fast approaching.  And when it arrived, everything would be ready and everything would be perfect.  Tazaki couldn’t wait.

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: Kaminaga got donuts for all of D-Agency.  And Sakuma, who kind of felt like he was being stereotyped.  The cops and donuts thing.  But Kaminaga assured him that criminals liked donuts just as much as cops, and that no, he wasn’t being made fun of.  Kaminaga strikes me as the kind of guy who would remember everyone’s favorite types of donuts. 

 

And I’ve got a question.  Is anyone else in this fandom familiar with the Bioshock series?  Or would a crossover, with our favorite spies in the city of Rapture fall flat, because no one knows the series that I’d be crossing Joker Game over with?  I’m just wondering about that as a potential future project.  But even if there’s interest, it would be awhile in coming.  My plans for writing for the next few months are first, to finish Tazaki’s Arc, then finish the fic I’m writing for the Joker Game fanzine that Jimmi’s putting together.  Then to get back to work on Coming Home, and finish that.  While adding some new chapters to Spy Games, and some side story chapters to this fic, before I start the next arc.  And I’ve got some oneshots that I’ve promised to write, as well.  Lots to write.  And you’ll have lots to read. :)

 

Oh, and Tivanny has drawn another piece of fan art for this arc.  Remember a couple chapters ago, when everyone had gotten up early to hear Tazaki’s art heist plan?  And Jitsui and Hatano were sharing the love seat, with Hatano curled up, his head in Jitsui’s lap, as Jitsui drank coffee?  Well Tivanny has drawn that scene with her own adorable spin on it.  You can view it at this link: <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/151554828211>

 

Next chapter: Curtains rise on Tazaki’s show!  If all goes well with writing it, I should have it up sometime this weekend. :)


	22. Tazaki's Arc: Part 8

            “For too long in Las Vegas, a certain criminal element has been allowed to get by with far too much.  This certain criminal element has operated outside of the law, not just on the local level, but state level as well.  And this is a problem that our state should no longer tolerate or ignore.  Which is why in next year’s election, I will be running for governor, for the state of Nevada.”  Mayor Gordon’s announcement was greeted with applause.  Much of it prerecorded.  Tazaki didn’t know why politicians seemed to think that people couldn’t recognize the same wolf whistle that was heard so often, in so many situations where people knew beforehand that applause would be needed at a certain point.  D-Agency’s resident magician rolled his eyes at the television screen as a marquee began scrolling across the bottom of the screen, repeating the announcement that Las Vegas’s mayor had just stated his intent to run for governor.

            Gordon then continued his speech after the applause died down.  Or rather after the recording had run its course.  He vowed to fight corruption no longer just locally, but state wide, especially targeting that certain criminal element he mentioned, even going as far as putting together a special taskforce if necessary to do so.

            “I think he got that idea from Hawaii Five-0,” said Kaminaga, smirking.  “Next he’ll be prattling on about giving the people in his taskforce means and immunity.”

            “No, next he’s going to start talking about how much more our state could prosper in the absence of a certain criminal element,” said Jitsui.  “He’s following his speech to the letter.”

            “Idiot,” commented Hatano.

            “Really,” agreed Jitsui.  “Preloading it into the teleprompter weeks in advance.  Anyone could hack into it and read everything he was going to say.”  He started fanning himself with one of the programs for Tazaki’s show.  “A Certain Criminal Element” was emblazoned in fancy golden lettering above a Van Gogh style painted sunflower on the program’s cover. 

            “Do you think he uses the phrase ‘A certain criminal element’ enough though?” asked Odagiri, quite critically, and earned himself a round of snickers. 

            “He really thinks that just because he refers to us that way, he’s going to get off?” Hatano asked.

            “Well, legally, there’s nothing we can do to him for it.  If he never mentions us specifically,” said Miyoshi.  “But in actuality . . . yeah, we were never going to let him get away with that.”

            Their leader muted the television’s sound and motioned them all to join him.  He was holding a flat white box with a silver insignia embossed on the top, marking it as being from their regular florist.  As his brothers all moved to stand in a circle around him, he opened it, to reveal eight miniature sunflower boutineers.

            “Gentlemen,” Miyoshi said, “It’s time to live up to our reputation.”

            Amari wasn’t there, but not ordering a boutineer for him probably hadn’t even crossed Miyoshi’s mind.  Likewise, Jitsui wouldn’t be seen wearing his at any time during the show.  Since he wouldn’t be wearing it at any time during the show.  Since he’d be wearing that skimpy, sparkly dress.  But he got one anyway, just because.  Hatano pinned it to Jitsui’s lapel for him, then held still while Jitsui returned the favor.  Then Hatano made an announcement.

            “I’m coming back to work tonight.”  He said it casually.  But there was steel in his eyes, daring anyone to challenge him on this.  And by now they all knew Hatano’s fears about Jitsui falling into the Metro’s hands.  Or anyone else’s hands.  So none of them even thought about denying Hatano on this.

            “Of course you are,” said Yuuki from the room’s doorway.  They all turned to see their boss, standing there, as stern and regal as always, in his charcoal colored three-piece suit.  Even down on Sublevel D, his cane was ever present.  And he already wore a miniature sunflower pinned to his lapel. 

            Hatano beamed smugly, like he’d both been praised and had just won an argument.  He beamed even brighter after Yuuki gave his shoulder a brief pat, as he walked by him. 

            Tazaki smiled at the sight, then sobered quickly as Yuuki stopped right in front of him.  “Sir?” he asked, sensing Yuuki wanted something, but not sure what.

            Yuuki removed one of the boutineers from Miyoshi’s box, and turned toward Tazaki with it.  Tazaki held still as Yuuki pinned it on for him, making it look so easy, even though it must have taken forever for him to learn how to do that with just one hand. 

            “You do good work,” Yuuki told Tazaki, meeting his eyes with the kind of intensity that had normal people averting their gazes.  But Tazaki had no desire to look away, even if his eyes had suddenly, and inexplicably started stinging.  Instead, he felt a lump rise in his throat and had to swallow several times before he could speak.

            “Thank you, sir,” Tazaki told Yuuki. 

            The older man patted Tazaki’s shoulder briefly too, before stepping back so that he could address them all.  “No mistakes tonight, gentlemen.  Keep security tight.  Stay on top of everything.  If you must err, do so on the side of caution.”

            There were nods of assent all around. 

            Tazaki smiled as he surveyed his troops.  Not that they were his, per say, except . . .well, yeah, they were.  And he couldn’t deny that it felt really, really great.  Working with them, to do something good for the world.  To right a wrong that a corrupt system had no intention of fixing.  And to screw over a man who was taking enemy action against all of them.  Tazaki would have gladly done anything Miyoshi or Yuuki asked of him, to help thwart the man who was going after their family.  The only family Tazaki had now, in this world.  But being able to combine that with his latest heist?  That was just icing on the cake.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Jitsui looked ravishing in his tiny, sequin covered dress, as they all knew he would.  And uncannily like Hatano had, with that makeup and wig on.  He finished applying his temporary tattoo, tossed the paper in the waste basket, then checked his makeup once more.

            “You look fine,” Tazaki assured him.

            “I know,” Jitsui said, meeting Tazaki’s eyes in the mirror.  They were backstage, in Tazaki’s seldom used dressing room, where Jitsui would return once his role in the performance was finished, courtesy of a trapdoor from onstage connected to a tunnel that led directly here.  Jitsui’s suit was carefully hung up, so that the sunflower on the lapel would not be damaged.  And his laptop was plugged in and charging, so it would be ready when he needed it, after his role in the show was done.  Fukumoto stood guard at the dressing room door, and would continue to do so until Jitsui was back in his regular clothes.  That job had nearly gone to Hatano, but Hatano insisted on being stage side security, so that he could intervene if anyone tried to grab Jitsui during the show, where Jitsui would be most at risk.

            Odagiri would be stage side security as well.  And he had a whole team of guards at the doors, and outside the doors, who had been given strict orders to intervene with extreme prejudice, if it looked like any of the casino guests were being harassed or led out against their will.  And considering that Yuuki-san himself would also be in the audience, at the back of the auditorium, near the exit, Tazaki couldn’t see anyone managing to manhandle Jitsui out of the show against his will. 

            Kaminaga and Miyoshi were also around, but they had other jobs, that evening.  Miyoshi was in the lighting booth, in charge of the lights, curtains, and the show’s special effects.  Kaminaga was playing the part of a delivery boy.  His role would be featured later.  But if, by chance, something did go wrong, and it seemed like either Tazaki or Jitsui was in trouble, Tazaki knew Kaminaga wouldn’t hesitate to involve himself.  For everyone’s sake, he hoped that wouldn’t happen, because that would mean they’d likely have several bodies on their hands.  Because if it came to that, Hatano would have already started snapping necks.

            “It’s going to be fine,” said Jitsui, standing up, and startling Tazaki out of his slightly morbid thoughts.  “Don’t overthink things.”

            “I’m not,” said Tazaki. 

            Jitsui gave him a look.

            “Not much,” Tazaki amended.  “But it’s hard not to worry.”

            Jitsui smiled gently.  “Try to remember that the hardest part’s already done.  All that’s left is to act out a simple scene and hit a few switches.  And we know those switches will do exactly what they’re supposed to.  We’ve tested them all enough.  And I programmed them myself.”

            “Yeah,” said Tazaki.  “Thanks.”

            “I should take my seat before the rest of the audience starts arriving.”  Jitsui picked up his purse and started toward the exit.  “I’ll see you soon.”

            “Yeah.  Hey, Jitsui?”

            Jitsui twisted to look back at him.

            “Thanks again for all this.  And sorry for asking so much of you.”

            “You don’t owe me any apologies,” said Jitsui.  “I’ve done worse than crossdressing, for less than returning a priceless painting to a Holocaust survivor.  I’m happy to help with this.  I guess I’ve come around to your way of thinking about corrupt systems.”

            Well, Tazaki already knew that.  Jitsui had come around to Tazaki’s way of thinking about that shortly after the two of them first met.  And he’d proven it many, many times.

            “But if you must thank me . . . bring me back a bag of Tim Horton’s coffee, when you come home from Canada.  Their original blend.  Actually, I want two bags,” said Jitsui. 

            “I’ll bring you three,” promised Tazaki.

            Jitsui flashed a smile that would have melted the hearts of many men and women alike, then sashayed out of the dressing room, leaving Tazaki alone with his thoughts.  And even though he loved Jitsui like a brother, Tazaki was glad for the privacy.  Because it was moments like these when he started thinking about his life and how it had turned out this way.  Really thinking about it.  And wondering if his parents would have approved.  It was something he’d never been able to figure out.  There were some days when he thought that they would.  But others where he was sure they wouldn’t.  Not that they got a say in it.  Since they were dead and gone.  But when it came down to it, they were the ones who taught him that someone had to take a stand against corruption, even if it meant breaking the law.  They had taught him that with their deaths.  So whether they would have approved in life or not was a moot point.

            His new family approved.  Yuuki-san hadn’t said he was proud of Tazaki in as many words, but he had conveyed it all the same.  Tazaki’s eyes still burned a little at the memory.  It had been really nice.  Being told that by the man who was now the closest thing he had to a father. 

            Tazaki spent the next twenty minutes or so finding his calm again, letting his worries and apprehensions flow through him, then out of him, until he felt the way he did before every show.  Like everything was going to go exactly as planned.  They were prepared for this.  They’d overplanned if anything.  Which was fine.  Efforts like that were never wasted.  They would all be worth it when, at the performance’s end, the heist had been revealed, Jitsui had made it back into his regular clothes without being detained by the police, and Tazaki had pulled a disappearing act, while Miyoshi lawyered up and kept the Metro at bay, and refused to let them speak with Tazaki unless they had an arrest warrant for him.  Which they would never find enough evidence for. 

            When Fukumoto’s soft knock came on the door, and his tallest friend opened it and somberly announced, “It’s time,” Tazaki was ready.  He flashed Fukumoto a million dollar smile, adjusted his shirtsleeves once more, and donned his top hat.  Because along with a white rabbit, some pigeons, and a beautiful assistant, every good magician needed a good hat.

            “Good evening everyone!  And thank you all for coming,” Tazaki opened his show with a polite greeting.  “I am honored to have such an amazing turn out, for a show that you had such short notice for.  My apologies for that, by the way.  This was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing.  Sometimes you have to act quickly, when you only have a small window of opportunity to right a wrong, and this is one of those times.  And it does credit to each and every one of you, especially our guests tonight from far away, who have taken time out from their busy schedules to come here for this.”

            He bowed to them politely, with a Western-style bow rather than an Eastern one.  A stage bow.  And he was applauded for it, even though he hadn’t really done anything yet.  The audience, it seemed, was very polite too.  Well, he did know a lot of them.  Aside from the celebrity guests, who all knew him, invitations had also been issued to many longtime fans of his shows.  A good many locals always showed up whenever he put on a new act.  All the ones Tazaki was familiar with had been sent invitations for this one night only show too.  And all of them had shown up, not wanting to miss whatever he had in store for them.

            “Now,” Tazaki continued.  “Not everyone here is aware of the purpose of tonight’s show.  So let me fill you in –”

            “Is this like a charity concert or something?” called out Jitsui, right on cue.

            Tazaki let his eyes fall over the audience until they came to rest on Jitsui, like he was singling him out.  “An excellent question.  And the answer is yes and no.  Yes, because we are here to accomplish some good for this world tonight.  But no, because charity concerts and shows typically ask for donations, in exchange for attending.  This show is 100 percent free.  No donations are needed.

            “Now, the wrong that we’re here to right tonight, is in regards to the ownership of a certain sunflower painting.  A work by Van Gogh, painted in the final year of the great artist’s life.  Purchased by a Jewish man in the 1930s, and gifted to his daughter and her new husband, on the night of her wedding,” continued Tazaki.  “This painting is called Sunflower Fields.  I’m sure many of you have heard of it.  It’s scheduled to be auctioned off right here in Las Vegas tomorrow.”

            There were murmurs of agreement.  The painting had been in the local news lately.

            “But, unfortunately for the painting’s current owners,” Tazaki continued, “That’s not going to happen.  Because that painting does not belong to its current owners.  Sunflower Fields’s rightful owner is a woman living in Vancouver.  The woman who received it as a wedding present from her father.  A Holocaust survivor.  And that painting was stolen from her family by the Nazis.  Then it was confiscated from the German government, after the war, once its provenances revealed it to have been looted.  Then it was foolishly returned to the German government, under the condition that it be returned to its rightful owner.  Unfortunately, no such attempt to do that was made.  Instead, it was auctioned off, and ended up in the hands of Nazi war profiteers.  Then it was used as collateral for a bet, which is how it ended up here, in Nevada.”

            “That’s horrible!” Jitsui called out.

            “Indeed it is,” said Tazaki.  “And this whole time, the painting’s rightful owner has been trying to go through proper legal channels to have her painting returned to her.  There is a system of laws in place, for when incidents like this occur.  But unfortunately, that system has failed this woman.  In part because the system itself is flawed.  But also, largely, because the people who run the system, would rather line their pockets than do the right thing.  I don’t want to name any names, or anything, but . . . well, let’s just say a certain local politician who art restitution lawyers reached out to for help with this matter would rather line his pockets for his upcoming campaign, than see this painting returned to its rightful owner, a woman who lost everything.”

            “You mean Mayor Gordon?” Jitsui asked very loudly.

            Tazaki gave his incognito friend a tolerant smile.  “Not naming names,” he said again. 

            “He means Mayor Gordon!” Jitsui decided, even more loudly.

            “Doesn’t he own the auction house that’s selling it?” asked someone else.  Not someone who Tazaki had planted in the audience, much to Tazaki’s delight.

            “He does,” called out someone else.

            “Hmph.  You can never trust anyone in politics.”

            “Too true, my friends, too true,” said Tazaki, taking control of the situation again.  “Which brings us back to what we can do about this.  I’ve brought you all here tonight, to bear witness to . . . well, this might not be the greatest act of art restitution of the century, but it’s certainly going to be the flashiest.  But for it, I’m going to need a bit of help.  Could I have a volunteer from the audience?”

            Hands went up.  Many, many hands.  Almost all Tazaki’s local fans.  Plenty of his celebrity guests.  Even a great showing of hands from the random people who had been given tickets just today, to ensure that Tazaki’s show was performed for a full house.  And, of course, Jitsui raised his hand too.

            “You there,” Tazaki called to his friend.  “The blond lady up front, in the very, very sparkly dress.  Come on up!”

            Jitsui obeyed, eagerly, scurrying up on stage with a bouncy little step in his walk.  No matter how you looked at him, he looked 100 percent female.  No one watching, who didn’t already know, would think otherwise, thanks to the hourglass figure given to him by his corset, and his naturally slender, pale legs. 

            “Thank you for your enthusiasm,” Tazaki said to Jitsui, and held a microphone out for him.  “What’s your name?”

            Jitsui fluffed his hair just a bit on one side before answering.  “Jen,” he answered with a flirtatious smile.

            ‘Thank you for your enthusiasm, Jen.”

            “So, um, how are we going to get this painting back to its owner?” Jitsui asked.

            “I’m glad you asked,” Tazaki said.  “Say, Jen, have you ever walked through a dimensional rift through space and time?”

            “Huh?” Jitsui asked, looking clueless.

            “A dimensional rift,” repeated Tazaki.  “Through space and time.  It’s kind of magic, really more physics, long boring explanation.  In short, a portal.”

            “Um, well, no,” said Jitsui.  “Those don’t exist.”

            “Actually, they do,” said Tazaki.  “And you’re going to be walking through one tonight.”

            Jitsui gave a slightly nervous, slightly disbelieving little laugh.

            “I’m not joking,” said Tazaki.  “I’m going to open a dimensional rift.  Right here on stage.  You’re going to walk through it, straight into the auction house, where Sunflower Fields is on display and retrieve it.  Can you do that for me?”

            “Um, yeah, okay,” said Jitsui, and giggled slightly.

            “Alrighty then,” said Tazaki.  He offered his arm to his friend.  “If I could just escort you to the side of the stage for a moment?”

            Jitsui took his arm.  Then squeezed it and started feeling it up and down.  “Wow.  Your biceps are really well defined under your suit.”

            “Thank you,” Tazaki responded.

            “I mean like wow.  Really wow,” Jitsui giggled.  “Hey, do you think maybe after your show, you’d want to go out for drinks?”

            “Sure.  I would love to,” Tazaki agreed.  “What’s an art heist without some celebratory champagne?”

            Jitsui giggled again and kind of pressed himself up against Tazaki’s chest.  Tazaki artfully detached himself from the clingy volunteer.

            “But first . . .” Tazaki walked so that he was right in front of the digital curtain.  Even standing right in front of it, he could barely see it.  It was harder to see than a transparent piece of glass in a funhouse.  From the audience, it would be completely invisible.  Tazaki held his hand out toward it, and a fuzzy light lit up the curtain, right in front of his hand.  It swirled around a bit for a good ten seconds.  To the audience, it looked as though a ball of light had appeared in midair, right in front of Tazaki.  Then, it started to expand, growing bigger.  Opening up.  Changing from a ball of light, more into a ring of light.  And inside the ring was the room from the auction house, where Sunflower Fields was on display.

            To the audience, it looked like Tazaki had made good on his declaration.  It looked as though he’d just opened a portal right in the middle of the stage.  Murmurs filled the auditorium. 

            “There,” said Tazaki.  “The portal is stable.  For now.  But we probably shouldn’t waste any time.  Since this is sort of operating on the same frequency as a black hole.”

            “How did you do that?” asked Jitsui, sounding dumbfounded.  “That – it just – you – you really opened a portal!”

            “Yes,” said Tazaki. 

            “Is it safe?” Jitsui asked hesitantly.

            “Mostly.”

            “How did you do it?”

            “A magician never reveals his secrets,” Tazaki said, smiling secretly and placing one finger over his lips in a secretive gesture.  “Now, Miss Jen, if you please?”

            Jitsui approached the curtain, looking a bit hesitant.  He reached out tentatively toward it, and held his hand right in front of it, as though he was reaching into the portal.  A small but blinding flash of light flared up on the curtain, and Jitsui jumped back.  “Oh!”

            “Don’t be afraid,” said Tazaki, catching him by his bare shoulders, as though he needed help or comforting. 

            “It’s tingly,” said Jitsui, sounding amazed.

            “Yes,” said Tazaki.  “It won’t hurt.  I promise.”

            Jitsui stepped forward again, this time with a bit more confidence.  And then a much larger, white flash of light flared up, so brightly that it left spots on the eyes of anyone who’d been looking at it.  The perfect cover for Jitsui to fall straight down through the trapdoor beneath his feet.  And when the light died away, Jitsui was gone.  But on the screen, looking as though he was standing on the other side of the portal, in the auction house, was the image of Hatano, wearing Jitsui’s dress, with the exact same makeup, and his eyes kept wide open in mimicry of Jitsui’s naturally wider eyes.  If Tazaki hadn’t known, he couldn’t guarantee that he’d have realized it wasn’t Jitsui he was looking at right there.  At least not without taking a closer look.

            “Doing alright there, Jen?” asked Tazaki.

            On the curtain, Hatano looked around, awed.  He reached out, like he was trying to put his hand through the portal again, causing another flare of white light.  Then he laughed.  And it was Jitsui’s laugh that was heard, and Jitsui’s voice when he asked his question.

            “Is this real?  How is this even possible?  I’m . . . I’m really somewhere else!”

            “Yes,” agreed Tazaki.  “You’ve really stepped through a rift in time and space.”

            “Wow.”  His volunteer spun around, as though taking everything in, like this was the most amazing thing “she” had ever seen.

            “Miss Jen?  The painting?” Tazaki prompted, after letting her gawk for several moments.

            “Oh!  Right!” Jitsui’s voice said, his voice synced up to the movements of Hatano’s lips.  And on screen, Hatano twisted around, a bit clumsily, and minced toward the wall where the painting was hanging.  He ducked under the red velvet rope connecting two stanchions, then seemed to realize as he drew closer, that he wasn’t going to be able to reach it by standing on the floor.  So he looked around, and seemed to have a lightbulb moment.  Then he dragged over an antique chair, made of some heavy dark wood, and climbed up on top of it so he could reach the painting.  Once he had the painting in hand, he clambered down, a bit clumsily.  Or perhaps a bit tipsily.  Then he brought the painting back to the front of the portal.  He took a deep breath.  And then he stepped through, accompanied by another blinding flash of light.

            And when it cleared, Jitsui was back on stage, holding the prop copy of Sunflower Fields.  He lifted it high above his head, like a bikini girl at a boxing match, holding up a sign to identify which round the fight had progressed to.  And he took a few prancing steps forward.  That’s when the applause started. 

            Smiling, Tazaki snapped his fingers.  The image on the curtain started shrinking and growing fuzzy.  Like the portal was closing.  It shrank until it was about the size that it had started.  Then it blinked out of existence.

            Meanwhile, Jitsui continued basking in his five minutes of fame.  “I got it!  I got the painting!” he called out merrily.

            “Indeed you did,” said Tazaki, putting a note of concern in his voice.  “But we should probably be very careful with it.  It’s quite old after all.  And valuable.  In fact, why don’t you give it to me.”

            He very carefully, and politely as he could, separated Jitsui from the painting, conveying through his motions, just how worried he was about leaving the painting in the hands of someone who would wave it around so carelessly, the way Jitsui was. 

            “What do we do with it now?” asked Jitsui, seeming not to have noticed anything amiss, and not insulted at all by Tazaki taking the painting.

            “Now,” said Tazaki, “We mail it home.”

            From behind his back, he produced a long, flat shipping box, which he carefully slid the painting into.  Some members of the audience were probably minorly freaking out about how he hadn’t packaged it properly.  Or else about how he was planning to send a priceless painting out of the country using Fed Ex.  But most of them were probably aware that there was more going on than they could see, and knew Tazaki well enough to know he wouldn’t treat a real Van Gogh painting this way. 

            After securing the painting inside the box, Tazaki consulted his watch.  “Alright.  Earlier this evening, I called for a pickup.  The delivery man should be here any . . . ah, here he is.”

            The auditorium door had just opened, and in stepped Kaminaga, in a Fed Ex delivery man’s outfit, looking a bit lost, and very bewildered to step into a room and suddenly have everyone staring at him.  Kaminaga looked around, seeming like he had no idea what was going on.  Then he saw Odagiri and quickly walked over to him.  In the sudden silence of the auditorium, everyone was able to hear his question, even though he was deliberately keeping his voice low.

            “Hey, uh, someone here called for a pick up.  Do you know who –”

            “That would be me,” said Tazaki.  “Come on up here, if you please.”

            Somewhat reluctantly, Kaminaga obeyed.  He kept looking around warily, at all the people watching him, and put up a very good act of having no idea what was going on or what he’d just stepped into.

            “Here you go,” said Tazaki, handing over the painting in its box.  “Please be very careful with it.”

            “Yes.  Of course.  We always are, sir,” said Kaminaga stiffly.  “If I could just get you to sign here?”  He handed an electronic tablet to Tazaki, who signed.  Then he read out, “And just to confirm, this package is being sent to the Vancouver Art Gallery in Vancouver, Canada.  Address . . .” he rattled off the gallery’s street address, then looked at Tazaki for confirmation.

            “That is correct,” Tazaki said.

            “Alright then.  Thank you, sir,” said Kaminaga, retreating quickly from the stage.  “And have a good evening.”  He walked quickly toward the doors.  And muttered, half under his breath, but definitely loud enough for plenty of people to hear, “Freak.”

            Some people found that amusing.  Tazaki was one of them, but he just smiled.  “Alright then.  That concludes tonight’s show.  But the fun’s just getting started.  Make sure you check out tomorrow’s newspapers and read all about the mysterious disappearance of a certain sunflower painting!”

            “Hey.  Hey?  You still want to go for drinks, right?” asked Jitsui, latching onto Tazaki’s arm again.

            “Of course,” said Tazaki, wrapping an arm around Jitsui’s waist, pulling him a bit closer in preparation for the disappearing trick they were right about to pull.  “Thank you everyone, for coming tonight!  You’ve been a great audience, coming here and helping me make history.  Please come see me again, in a future show.  I’d like to say that I’ll be here all week, but after I treat Miss Jen here to a drink, I’ll be pulling a disappearing act, until the police have given up on connecting me to this crime.  Thanks again for coming, and make sure to look me up next time you’re in Vegas!”

            Then, in a swirl of white pigeons, Tazaki and Jitsui disappeared.  The trapdoor dropped them into the tunnel beneath their feet.  On instinct, Tazaki swept Jitsui into his arms as they were falling, so that he was holding him bridal style when they landed.  Jitsui folded his arms and gave Tazaki a very dry look, dropping his ditzy debutante act like a bad habit.  Tazaki quickly set him down.

            “That went well,” Jitsui commented in his normal voice, after regaining his balance.

            “Yes,” Tazaki agreed, releasing Jitsui.  “That went very well.”

            They began briskly walking through the tunnel, to Tazaki’s dressing room.  It was time for the final phase of the plan.

 

* * *

 

 

To be concluded next chapter!

 

I’m sure at least some people have figured out one of the tricks D-Agency has in store for their enemies.  But there’s another that should come as a surprise to everyone, because there weren’t exactly any hints given about what it is.  Just mentions of Fukumoto having a twisted side when he came up with it.  And I hope you’ll agree. :)  In the meantime, I’m going to issue a spit take warning in advance for the first half of next chapter.  (In other words, please be careful if you choose to drink beverages of any kind while reading the first half of next chapter.  Particularly if Miyoshi is issuing a statement.  I don’t want our boys’ twisted sense of humor to be the cause of any damaged electronics)

 

My apologies, by the way, for not having this chapter ready over the weekend, like I thought I would.  A couple things came up, and then the writing of this took a bit longer than I expected.  And since this was such an important chapter, I wanted to make sure I nailed it.  Hopefully the wait was worth it, and once again, sorry!

 

And one last thing: two new pieces of fanart for this arc!

 

Aoi_Kitsukawa drew that scene from Chapter 19, where Miyoshi and Sakuma get soaked as an Inktober artwork.  Please enjoy Sakuma’s hilarious thought bubble.  And Miyoshi’s priceless expression, featured here: <http://marrylissa.tumblr.com/image/151886101497>

 

And Meridian Blue has sculpted Tazaki holding a certain sunflower painting.  Doing some kind of magic trick.  On stage.  Is it an illusion?  Or is it a disruption of the space-time continuum?  And check out that miniature sunflower boutineer!  (I feel like I should confess this, but I love a man with a flower pinned to his lapel, lol) <http://meridianblue.tumblr.com/post/151966535861/a-quick-sculpt-of-tazaki-inspired-by-this-i-made>

 

 


	23. Tazaki's Arc: Conclusion

            Gordon huffed and puffed has he ran up the stairs of the auction house, to the room where Sunflower Fields was on display.  The security team had assured him that the painting was right where it belonged, but until he saw it with his own eyes, he couldn’t feel secure. 

            Those D-Agency bastards.  Gordon had learned, throughout the years, not to underestimate them when they made it clear they planned to do something.  And he’d been getting a lot of confusing calls and messages that evening, since giving his speech announcing that he was running for governor.  One of the auction house managers had called, telling him that one of their day shift security guards claimed he saw Tazaki of D-Agency steal the Sunflower Fields painting.  But that the security guards on the night shift all insisted the painting was right where it was supposed to be.  His campaign manager pulled him aside, in near panic.  The internet was blowing up.  Two dozen or so celebrities were Tweeting and posting on Facebook about the painting being stolen during a magic show.  Other, random people, were incensed about a video interview they found of him online, haughtily shutting down an art restitution lawyer’s attempts to have the painting’s auction date delayed while further claims were filed to have the painting returned to its rightful owner. 

            Gordon would get to the bottom of whatever was going on.  After he saw with his own eyes that Sunflower Fields was right where it was supposed to be.  That painting represented a huge payday for him.  One that he could not afford to lose, even if it meant taking a few hits in the polls over.

            “There’s no need for concern, sir,” said one of three guards inside the room where Sunflower Fields was on display.  “The painting is secure.”

            And it was.  Gordon breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the painting.  There was no mistaking that image, those colors, and those immaculate brush strokes.  The painting was secure.  Just as his security guards had said.  He would have an art appraiser look over it tomorrow, before it was auctioned off, just to lay to rest any doubts about it maybe not being the genuine article.  But just by looking at it, Gordon had no doubts. 

            He laughed.  D-Agency may have actually have done him a favor with their little stunt.  He had no doubt that it had been done to try to discredit him, but it would only make the painting more desirable.  He was looking at a bigger payday than he first thought, thanks to them.  And if it tarnished his reputation a little bit, he could work on it.  He had a whole year and some change before the election to build himself back up.

            Then, the unthinkable happened.  The fire alarm suddenly started beeping like haywire.  And the sprinkler system switched on.

            “No!” Gordon shouted.  “The painting!”

            It was even worse than he’d feared.  Because instead of sending down steady streams of water in all directions, two of the sprinkler heads sent out high powered jets of water.  Aimed right at the Van Gogh.

            “Save the painting!  Get it down!” Gordon screamed at the guards.  “The sprinklers!  Turn them off!  Get the painting!”

            And they tried.  The guards were literally tripping over themselves trying to obey his orders.  The tallest of them managed to get the painting off the wall without the assistance of a step stool or ladder.  But he almost dropped it in the process.  But it wouldn’t have mattered.  Gordon’s heart was sinking like the Titanic as he saw the state the painting was in after only moments of exposure to the high pressured water.  The paint was running down off it in disgusting wet globs.  It reminded him of slime.  Green slime, as the blues of the sky and the yellows of the sunflowers ran together in a disgusting mass.

            He had no words.  There were just no words for something like this.  Watching that much money slip through his fingers, so fast, without warning.  Right after being assured that his payday was safe.  Gordon felt his breath coming in quick gasps.  No, he was not going to cry over this.  He wasn’t.

            Then he noticed something on the canvas, as the paint continued to drip away.

            “What the hell?”

            Because underneath the paint had been another image.  More sunflowers.  But not Van Gogh style sunflowers.  And not a painting.  A crayon drawing.  The distinctive grainy lines made by crayons were unmistakable.  And the image looked like it had been done by a child, with its scribbly style.  And the grotesquely happy faces that the sunflowers were sporting.  One of them even wore sunglasses!

            With a scream of anger, Gordon grabbed the painting out of the guard’s hands and threw it to the floor, and started stomping on it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Miles away, Hatano and Jitsui watched the scene play out on Jitsui’s laptop screen from the comfort of Sublevel D.  Jitsui had changed back into his regular clothes, ditched the blond wig, cleaned off his makeup, and hacked back into the auction house’s security cameras .  And now, he was doubled over laughing as Miyoshi’s trick with the painting was finally revealed. 

            “He doesn’t like my artwork,” said Hatano mournfully, watching as the wooden frame that the canvas was stretched over splintered under Gordon’s stomping.

            That made Jitsui straighten up, a vindictive look in his eyes.  He started tapping keys, issuing another command to the sprinkler system.  It shut off for a moment then came back on, but this time its jets were trained on Gordon, soaking him.  Because that was his baby’s artwork the corrupt mayor was stomping on.  And Jitsui did not approve.

            Hatano laughed in delight as Gordon completely lost it.  Their mayor kicked the ruined canvas across the floor, then turned and punched one of the security guards.

            “That looks like a lawsuit,” commented Miyoshi, who’d appeared to watch over their shoulders.

            “That looks like an internet sensation,” Jitsui said.  He was recording this all for a reason, after all.

            “That looks like the end of an election campaign,” said Tazaki, smirking.  “Nice touch with the crayon drawing, you two.”

            “Thank you!” Hatano beamed.

            “Anything on the package yet?”  Miyoshi enquired.

            “Not yet.  It’s too soon for a warrant to have been issued.  They just confirmed that the painting had been stolen like a minute ago.”

            “Well, hopefully they’ll stop slacking and get on it already,” said Miyoshi.  “I’d hate for Fukumoto’s dirty trick not to make the morning news.”

            “He might make a fuss if that happens,” said Hatano, looking worried.

            “Patience, my friends,” said Jitsui.  “They have hours to get that warrant before the cutoff for newspaper deadlines.  And even if they miss that, well, no one reads newspapers anymore.  All the news websites will have that part of the story up by breakfast.”

            “Here’s hoping,” said Tazaki.  Then he gave a regretful sigh.  “But I should get going.”

            “Yes.  You have a plane to catch,” said Miyoshi.

            “Have fun in Vancouver,” Jitsui said, tearing his eyes from the screen to give his friend a smile. 

            “Visit the aquarium there for me!” Hatano requested.

            “I will,” promised Tazaki.  “And I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

            “Yay!”

            “I’m jealous, you know,” said Miyoshi.  “I love the Vancouver Art Gallery.  And I haven’t been there in ages.”

            “Sorry,” said Tazaki ruefully.

            Miyoshi shrugged.  “Don’t be.  Someone has to field this media circus, and we need a pretty face representing us here.”

            “Thanks again, you guys,” said Tazaki.  “For everything.”

            “No problem,” said Jitsui.

            “It was fun,” Hatano agreed.

            “Do tell Mr. Banner goodbye for me,” said Miyoshi. 

            “I will,” promised Tazaki.  Then he handed Usa-chan to Hatano.  No one even bothered to point out that he hadn’t been holding his rabbit a moment ago, or thought to ask how she’d suddenly appeared.  By now they knew they wouldn’t get a straight answer.  “Take care of Usa-chan for me until I get back, alright?”

            “Mmm hmm!” Hatano agreed, cradling the giant, fluffy rabbit.

            “And make sure you take care of the detective, Miyoshi,” said Tazaki.  “No doubt they’ll be grilling him over this, trying to find out what, if anything, he knows.”

            “Don’t worry,” said Miyoshi.  “I’ll take good care of him.”

            “That in itself is kind of worrisome too,” Tazaki admitted.

            Miyoshi huffed, but smirked.  “Weren’t you leaving?”

            “Yes.  But I’m also stalling.”

            “Go ahead and go,” Miyoshi told him.  “Enjoy your time away.  You’ll be back here before you know it.”

            And he would.  Tazaki would only be away for a couple weeks.  A month, maybe two at the longest.  Miyoshi would let him know when he could return home without having to worry about being dragged in for questioning by the Metro.  Then he would come home.  He was trying to consider this a vacation.  But . . . honestly, he would rather have stayed home with his family.  Or taken them with him. 

            He could have stayed sequestered down in Sublevel D until things boiled over, but Tazaki knew the others would sleep easier with him in Canada, far out of the Metro’s reach.  So he did his best to make it seem like he really did want to go on this trip.  But he knew they weren’t fooled.  He had a feeling that Amari’s plan to stay in Canada as long as Tazaki did was more to keep Tazaki company than because he felt like getting out of the desert for awhile, as he claimed.  And he appreciated it.

            “I’ll see you guys soon,” Tazaki said, pulling the handle out of his carry on so he could roll it behind him, then striding toward the elevator, only pausing to ruffle Hatano’s hair as he passed.  “Don’t have too much fun riling up Gordon without me.”

            “You’re joking right?”

            “Of course.”  Tazaki smirked.  “Please have as much fun as possible.”

  


 

* * *

 

 

            “And now for the latest on the story about the Van Gogh heist, allegedly perpetrated by a stage magician, during a live performance last nice.  This is truly a story that keeps getting crazier and crazier as it progresses,” said the chirpy newswoman on the television screen in the airport coffee shop Tazaki stopped in, after touching down in Vancouver.  He watched with interest, as did many other coffee shop customers, because everyone loved a good art heist.  “A warrant was served to obtain the package which was sent from D-Agency Hotel and Casino via Fed Ex, at the show’s conclusion.  Police believed that it contained the stolen painting.  But upon exercising the warrant and opening the package, officers from the Metro recovered, not a stolen work of art, but thirty-two dog toys.  D-Agency’s heir and spokesman, Miyoshi Yuuki, issued this statement.”

            The camera cut to Miyoshi, immaculate as always, in a maroon suit that really brought out the red tint in his eyes.  He looked very distinguished.  And unhappy.  Behind him, making up his security detail, were Odagiri and Sakuma.

            “Those dog toys were a contribution from the students of a local daycare that D-Agency Hotel and Casino partnered with.  That daycare sent us a letter asking us to help them convert a local animal shelter into a no kill shelter,” Miyoshi said coldly into a microphone, his eyes boring into the camera like lasers.  “Moreover, we took their request a step further to help teach those children that sometimes it pays to play the odds, and brought into the partnership an organization which helps train service animals.  Seeing eye dogs and therapy dogs.  Animals that have to begin training at a young age, and that only an estimated one dog out of one hundred has the intelligence and temperament to become.  We do not appreciate the Metro standing in our way on this matter, or see why Mayor Gordon insists that they continuing to hold the confiscated dog toys as evidence.  As far as we at D-Agency can see, the only evidence that can be gleaned from this is that Mayor Gordon and the Metro hate children and puppies.”

            Tazaki had to fight really hard not to start laughing at that.  Others in the coffee shop, watching the news, didn’t bother suppressing their laughter.  Fukumoto’s idea to put dog toys into the package had truly been a stroke of genius.

            “And this just in.  A new development in the story of this Van Gogh heist,” said the newswoman, now back on the screen.  “The Vancouver Art Gallery has just announced the surprise opening of a new exhibit being advertised as ‘A Certain Sunflower Painting.’  We’re still getting this – yes.  Yes, the Vancouver Art Gallery has confirmed that they are in possession of the painting Sunflower Fields, and that they are displaying it with the permission of its rightful owner, a Holocaust survivor, who the painting was stolen from by the Nazis during World War II.  US diplomats have already reached out to the museum, asking for the painting’s immediate return to Las Vegas . . . but the Vancouver Art Gallery has advised them to seek justice through the proper legal channels.”

            Tazaki didn’t bother hiding a grin now.  The painting’s rightful owner living in Canada had been a true stroke of luck.  Possession is always nine tenths of the law, no matter where you were, so as long as they had gotten the painting across state lines, and back to its original owner, they should have been good.  But getting it out of the country?  And to Canada no less?  That couldn’t have worked out any better if they’d planned it.  Unless the painting’s owner chose to sell it to a client abroad, Sunflower Fields had come to Canada to stay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            There was already a line stretching around the building, of people waiting to be admitted to the Vancouver Art Gallery.  To prepare for its new exhibit, the gallery was opening an hour later than its usual time, at 11:00 am, and staying open several hours later into the evening, to take advantage of the hype. 

            Tazaki dodged the line.  His right as a celebrity guest of the gallery.  But he was photographed by many, many people as he entered.  The timing had been part of their plan.  Amari had delivered the painting, and the Vancouver Art Gallery had announced that they were in possession of it while Tazaki was still in the air.  A detail that would further serve to highlight that Tazaki had never been in possession of the painting, for D-Agency’s lawyers, who were now all set to the task of shutting down the Metro’s investigation into Tazaki and the casino.  But a detail that the average person wouldn’t care about.  Tazaki had become the face of the crime.  Him being an honored guest for A Certain Sunflower Painting’s exhibit opening only made everyone more certain that he was the one who had done it.  The police never being able to prove it wouldn’t diminish his celebrity status.

            Inside the gallery were some familiar and welcome faces.  Amari and Johann.  And some unfamiliar but no less welcome ones.  Several of the gallery’s board members.  And the rightful owner of Sunflower Fields.

            She was standing inside the exhibit when Tazaki first laid eyes on her.  A small woman, with white hair, who you could tell at a glance had weathered everything life had thrown at her, but had not been broken by it.  She was speaking with Johann.  And Tazaki could tell immediately that their conversation was a heavy one.  Johann was apologizing, again, for things not his fault.  And his client was absolving him, or doing her best to.  But for once, Tazaki thought that the situation looked hopeful.  If anyone could convince Johann he wasn’t to blame for the actions of his long dead grandfather, Tazaki had the feeling that this woman was the one. 

            “Have a good flight?” asked Amari, mostly to strike up small talk, as they watched Johann and the painting’s owner from the doorway.

            “Yes.  Have a good stay in Vancouver so far?”

            “Mm, not really.  I’ve just been in my hotel room this whole time, guarding the painting, never letting it out of my sight,” said Amari.

            “Sorry about that.”

            “But now that you’re here, I can finally have some fun.  I’ve heard about this Belgian restaurant that’s supposed to have seafood to die for, and really great beer,” said Amari.

            “We’ll go there, then,” said Tazaki.  “Any objection to bringing Johann along?”

            Amari made a face.  He, like Jitsui, had not approved of how things had ended between Johann and Miyoshi, even though they’d never actually started.  But then Amari shrugged.  “I suppose I can tolerate him for a couple hours a day, for as long as he’s around.  He’s leaving before us, right?”

            “Probably.  There will be clear documentation that he was no longer in Las Vegas at the time of the show.  They’re never going to have a clear idea what the real timetable for the painting disappearing was, or any evidence tying him to the crime.  And as long as he’s not in Nevada, they can’t touch him while they’re trying to find nonexistent evidence,” said Tazaki. 

            “That film of his meeting with Gordon has gone viral, by the way,” said Amari.  “It definitely makes Gordon look like the biggest dick of the year and belies half the things he said in his campaign speech.  And I don’t know if you’ve seen Miyoshi’s statement about the dog toys yet –”

            “I have,” interrupted Tazaki, smirking.

            “Ah, yes.  Well, between that footage, Miyoshi’s statement, and that security footage of Gordon going apeshit and losing it when the sprinklers revealed that forgery, which has also gone viral, Gordon’s campaign for governor is finished before it even started,” said Amari.

            “Pity.  I would have liked to see the commercials his rivals aired before the election,” said Tazaki.

            Amari grinned wickedly, then changed his posture, doing his best to imitate Miyoshi.  “Mayor Gordon hates children and puppies.”

            “Miyoshi definitely would have signed whatever releases were needed for that to be used in commercials,” Tazaki snickered. 

            “Do you want a man who hates children and puppies as governor of our state?  If not, vote for anyone else,” said Amari, in a voice that would have sounded really good in a campaign commercial. 

            “Excuse me?  Mr. Tazaki?”  One of the gallery’s board members had approached.  “Some members of the press have been admitted.  We were hoping to get some photographs taken before the exhibit opens.  Would you mind?”

            “Not at all,” said Tazaki, as Amari stepped back graciously.

            The next twenty minutes was one long photo op.  Tazaki’s meeting with the painting’s owner was captured on film, as he shook hands with the lady, then conjured a bouquet of miniature sunflowers for her.  Numerous pictures were taken of them in front of the painting, though after the first few, Tazaki pulled Johann in with them, since this was his win too.

            The gallery opened soon after, and the next few hours were spent mingling with the crowd and fielding questions.  Tazaki answered all the ones he could, being mindful not to say anything incriminating in his answers.  More pictures were taken.  And there were people to charm.  It was fun, working the crowd, but when time came for a break, Tazaki was more than ready for it.  He and Johann snuck out of the museum.  Just the two of them, since Amari had left to go do whatever he felt like, now that he no longer had to guard the painting.  Tazaki and Johann found a coffee cart and treated themselves to caffeine.

            “Hey, Reiji?”

            “I’m Tazaki now,” Tazaki reminded his friend.

            “Not to me, you know,” said Johann.  “You’re always going to be Reiji to me.  And I think it’s good for you to be reminded who you are every now and then.  And before you try to bring up my original last name, I’ll stop you.  I don’t need reminding of that, because I can never forget.”

            Tazaki sighed.  “We’re having a good day, Johann.  Aren’t we having a good day?  This is a win.  So why are you dragging all this up?”

            “Because I think you gave up your old name for the wrong reasons,” Johann said.

            “I didn’t technically give it up.  I just go by my stage name now.”

            “Because you don’t think your parents would approve of what you do.  But you’re wrong,” Johann said.  “There’s no way they wouldn’t be proud of you.  What you did . . . it shouldn’t have even been possible.  If it weren’t for you, that painting would have never been returned to its rightful owner.  And it’s not just a painting to her –”

            “I know.  It’s a link to her family,” said Tazaki. 

            “And you gave it back to her,” said Johann.  “There’s no way your parents wouldn’t be proud of you, Reiji.  Remember, I knew your mom.  And I might not have ever known your dad, but . . . well you know he wanted you to grow up to be the kind of man who will take a stand and help others.  There is no way he wouldn’t be proud of what you’ve done.”

            Tazaki shrugged, but not as uncertainly as he might have shrugged about this a few days ago.  “Yeah.  Maybe.  But thanks.  But you know, if they were proud of me, they’d be proud of you too.”

            “What?”

            “My parents were the type to be proud of my friends too,” said Tazaki.  “So . . . they would have either been proud of both of us together.  Or they would have made sure we were both grounded together.”

            Johann laughed.  And Tazaki was happy to see that he looked very pleased at that comment.

            And then something struck Tazaki.  Something that startled him, but that he had no doubts about at all.  His parents . . . they would have been proud of his friends at D-Agency too.  Whether they approved of what they did all the time or not wouldn’t have been the issue.  What would have mattered most to them . . . would have been that when Tazaki needed them, they were there, without fail.  And what they would have loved the most about them, was that they had come into Tazaki’s life when he needed them.  That they hadn’t let Tazaki stay alone in this world, but had taken him in.  Had given him a family again.  There was no way his parents wouldn’t have loved his new family for that.

            Smiling despite, or rather because of the sudden aching in his chest, Tazaki headed back toward the museum with Johann.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: Whew!  Another arc completed.  And just like after the last one, I feel like I could sleep for a week, lol.  These long arcs are fun to write, but they can also be mentally draining. >_<  Hopefully my first heist story turned out alright.  Any feedback you have on it would be appreciated.

 

Just like last time, I won’t be starting on the next arc immediately.  I’m not going on hiatus or anything, I’ll just be catching up on my other fics.  And writing side stories for this fic to put between the arcs and fill in some gaps, tell some stories about their pasts, and foreshadow a bit for the future.  And, you know, provide some fan service.  And self indulgence with more kid!Hatano, lol.  I haven’t picked which character to base the next arc around yet.  And even after I do, it will take me some time to plot out how I want that arc to go.  But I do have plenty of side stories planned to keep you occupied until I’m ready to start on the next arc, whenever that may be. :)

 

PS: How did you like Miyoshi’s and Fukumoto’s tricks?  This arc I was going for laughs rather than tears.  Did I succeed?


	24. Death Defying

Gift chapter for [bopbopbiddyboo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bopbopbiddyboo/pseuds/bopbopbiddyboo)

 

Set shortly after D-Agency takes Hatano in.  Featuring kid!Hatano and escape artist!Tazaki

Pre-series.  Post _Hatano’s Origin._   Post _Spoiling The Brat._

 

* * *

 

 

            Tazaki didn’t spend much time with children in general.  Make no mistake, he liked kids.  He liked making them happy, and seeing their eyes light up when he performed magic tricks.  They helped him remember what it felt like to believe in the impossible.  And he went out of his way to make sure that the younger guests at D-Agency Hotel and Casino enjoyed their stay.  Vegas was really an adult’s playground.  Kids were mostly bored to tears when they had to spend their days in a casino.  So Tazaki did his best to make sure all the younger guests knew about his shows.  And he used his own salary to buy small pigeon plushies in bulk, so that he could conjure them out of thin air and give them to children visiting the casino.  But he wasn’t particularly close to any kids.  At least not until D-Agency adopted Hatano.

            And technically, Hatano was a teen.  Aged thirteen when they took him in.  But malnutrition had stunted his growth and made him look much younger.  Tazaki wouldn’t have guessed he was a day over ten if he hadn’t known better.  And Hatano’s time spent locked away from the world made him mentally seem much younger too.  There were a lot of things that he didn’t know, that normal teenagers did, like who the current leader of the country they lived in was.  Or that it wasn’t cool to hold an adult’s hand when you crossed the street after you hit a certain age.  (But no one was going to tell Hatano that.  No one.  Jitsui would kill them if they did.  After using technology to completely ruin their lives.)  And then you had to add in the fact that Hatano was always looking around at everything in amazement.  To him, the world was beautiful and full of wonders.  Any little thing would fascinate him. 

            Kaminaga had once parked Hatano in front of a fountain and told him to wait there until he got back, then timed him to see how long it would take before Hatano got bored of watching the jets of water and flickering lights.  Kaminaga ended up calling off the experiment when, after an hour, it became clear Hatano wasn’t going to get bored of watching the water and lights, and that chances of Jitsui finding out about this were increasing exponentially every minute he delayed calling it off any longer.  And then there was the night that a wayward Monarch butterfly had somehow gotten inside the casino.  Amari caught it in the hallway, and brought it down to Sublevel D to show Hatano.  The way Hatano looked at it, you would have thought it was a miracle.  He followed it from room to room for hours before Fukumoto suggested they should let it rest, and helped Hatano catch it without hurting it and gently put it in a box, so it would have a simulated night time.  They’d released it outside the next morning, and Hatano had stood staring after it long after it had flown out of sight.

            For those reasons, and many others, Tazaki couldn’t help thinking of Hatano as a child.  So, technically, or at least kind of technically, Hatano was the first kid Tazaki became close to.  (Not counting the children he’d been close to when he himself was a child.)  And since Tazaki invited every other child he met at the casino to come watch his show, it made sense that inevitably, he’d have Hatano come see him perform too.

            Normally, kids loved his shows.  Like 99 percent of the time.  Many of them came to see him multiple times while they were staying at the hotel, so Tazaki was constantly varying his acts.  It was just bad luck that the first time Hatano came to one of his shows was when Tazaki was performing one of his death defying ticks.

            Kaminaga didn’t like Tazaki’s death defying acts.  Miyoshi and Yuuki weren’t too thrilled about them either.  Because most escape artist acts had some amount of risk in them.  All of them involved deceiving the audience, yes, and the magician was never in as much danger as they presented themselves to be in.  But they weren’t completely safe either.  Thing went wrong from time to time.  And when they went wrong, people got hurt, even died.  Sometimes, young children started crying just from seeing those acts.  But it never occurred to Tazaki that Hatano would be upset by it.  Since Hatano was actually a teenager.  He failed to take into account how much death Hatano had seen in his young life.  And if Tazaki had given it any thought, he wouldn’t have believed that he could have become important enough to Hatano in such a small space of time that an apparent threat to his life would send Hatano flying off the rails.  But he was mistaken.

            In Tazaki’s defense, he hadn’t actually known Hatano was in his audience at the time.  The invitation he’d given Hatano to come to his show sometime was carte blanche.  So he did not know Hatano was at that particular show, the night his final trick involved him getting tied down to a table, inside a very large cage, whose ceiling was covered with spikes that were rigged to drop, once a candle burned through the rope of the pulley system that held them up. 

            After Tazaki was tied to the table, in plain view of the audience, a thin curtain was dropped down from the ceiling, in the front of the cage, and a light shone through it, so all they could see were the silhouettes of Tazaki, and the cage.  What the audience didn’t know, was that in the few seconds between the curtain being drawn and the light being turned on, was that Tazaki, and the table he was on, had both been removed from the cage.  The bars on the back of the cage were welded into a frame that was suspended on an axel.  That axel allowed them to flip completely.  So the whole back wall of the cage was essentially a door in disguise.  One that allowed Tazaki a lightning fast exit.  But when the light came on and the audience saw his silhouette, they couldn’t tell that he was behind the cage now, rather than inside it.  They watched him struggle, holding their breath, as the large clock, which his assistant wheeled onto the stage ticked down the seconds until the spikes dropped.  Not knowing that the ropes binding Tazaki were held together with magnets.  Right before the candle burned through the rope and dropped the spiked ceiling, the light went out.  The audience couldn’t see through the curtain as the spikes fell, and the sound effect of a table being crushed was played on the speakers. 

            While the audience was blind to what was happening, Tazaki sprang off the table, right before it fell through a trapdoor and out of sight.  Then he shimmied up a ladder built on the side of the cage, and made it to the cage’s top within scant seconds.  Then the curtain was released and dropped to the ground.  It landed in front of the cage, hiding anything that might or might not be under the spiked ceiled, that was now on the cage floor.  And revealed Tazaki standing on top of the cage, alive, well, and not impaled. 

            As far as death defying escape acts went, this one was pretty safe.  With more built in safety features that the audience didn’t know.  Like, for example, the spikes on the ceiling were actually hard rubber.  If they fell on Tazaki, the worst that would happen would be he’d get a concussion.  And the candle that burned through the rope didn’t actually control the spikes dropping.  It was actually mechanical.  The burnt-through rope released the pressure on a sensor.  The sensor was what dropped the ceiling, and Tazaki’s watch had a button that could override it.  It seemed like overkill on protective measures to him, but the others had insisted.  Apparently he was too valuable to them to risk him having a concussion when they might need him.  That made Tazaki feel slightly touched.  But also a little wary that next they’d be assigning him a bodyguard for whenever he left the casino.  (Jitsui still hadn’t caught on that that was exactly what Hatano was to him now)

            But as safe as the trick was, it was still a bit . . . well, scary for a younger audience.  So Tazaki left it out of his shows during the day.  The earliest he ever performed it was at his eight o’clock shows.  Which just happened to be the show Hatano showed up at.

            In hindsight, Tazaki should have expected that.  Jitsui had arranged for online tutors for Hatano during the day, since they’d decided it was safer for everyone if he was home schooled.  And because they knew it was important for Hatano to start getting some sunlight, because his body had been literally starved of vitamin D during all his years spent locked away.  So Jitsui had put Hatano on a schedule where he got up in the morning, a little later than a normal school student would, and usually had him going to bed by midnight.  He spent a little bit of his morning outside, then came in to take his classes via Skype.  After his classes were over, he usually went outside a bit more, then came back to Sublevel D.  He and Jitsui had kind of fallen into a schedule, and Jitsui always timed his work shifts for casino surveillance so that he had a break around seven, so he could get dinner with Hatano.  That evening Hatano must have said something about wanting to see Tazaki’s show, and Jitsui had dropped Hatano off at the auditorium before heading back to his shift.  Which was how Hatano ended up at a show where Tazaki was performing a death defying act.

            But as mentioned earlier, Tazaki hadn’t known Hatano was in the audience at the time.  Or that he’d have such a strong and frightening response to the act.  So at first he thought everything was going fine.  The curtain was lowered in front of the cage.  The table was removed from the cage, and the light went on.  Then Tazaki pretended to be struggling against his ropes, his silhouette projected onto the curtain for the audience to see.   For the first twenty seconds, everything was going fine.

            Then a familiar, but shaky voice called out from the audience.  “Tazaki?  Are you alright?”

            Tazaki had received similar inquiries before, during this trick.  His responses varied depending on how old the audience member was.  To the older ones, he was sometimes a little cruel, and shouting things along the lines of, “No!  I’m definitely going to die!”  But to Hatano, he gave the response that he gave to younger inquirers.  “Yep!  I’ve got everything under control!”

            “Are you sure?” Hatano called to him several seconds later.

            “Yep!” Tazaki repeated, as he continued pretending to struggle.  “Trust me!”

            “Tazaki, there’s only twenty seconds left!”

            “It’s alright!” Tazaki called back to him. 

            But Hatano was not reassured.  “Fifteen seconds, Tazaki!  Stop!  Stop!  Get him out of there!  He’ll die!”

            Crap, Tazaki thought, and mentally debated his options.  He couldn’t see what was happening, but on the other side of the curtain, he heard a commotion.

            “Stop, boy!  You can’t go up there!” That was security.  There were two guards present at every one of his shows.  Mainly they had to stop overenthusiastic female fans from trying to get onstage for an autograph.  Tazaki doubted they’d ever faced anyone like Hatano before. 

            “No!  Tazaki!” Hatano screamed.  Not close enough to the stage to make it there in the time remaining, Tazaki judged.  But there was still clear and present danger that he would cause injury to the security guards.

            Tazaki made a decision.  “Snuff out the candle!  I’m calling it off!”

            But the timing was bad.  And he’d waited too late.  His assistant was too far to get to the candle in time.  And Hatano’s frantic screaming was complicating everything.  Tazaki should have thought to hit the override button, to keep the ceiling from falling.  But he heard the light click off and moved on autopilot, his muscles’ memory doing what he’d done hundreds of times in the past, even though his mind was currently confused and trying to figure out how to calm Hatano down. 

            As he reached the top of the cage, he heard Hatano give an animalistic scream.  And keep screaming.  Over that, he heard someone else shout in pain. 

            Then the curtain dropped, and Tazaki saw Hatano in the aisle, right in front of the stage, both security guards on the ground at his feet.  Moving, thankfully.  Because it would have been a huge mess if Hatano had killed them.  But Tazaki couldn’t feel too relieved, because just looking at Hatano broke his heart.  Tears were streaming down Hatano’s face, and he was shaking, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Tazaki, falling silent as soon as he saw him alive, up on top of the cage.  He looked so terrified right there.  Tazaki wasted no time in getting down.  He grabbed onto one of the bars of the front of the cage and used it to slide down, then sprinted to Hatano, who was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventating.

            “Hey.  Hatano.  It’s alright,” said Tazaki, pausing just in front of him.  He didn’t know if it was safe to touch Hatano right then.  “I’m alright.  See?  I’m right here.”

            “You’re not dead,” said Hatano.  “I thought you would die.”

            “But I didn’t.  It’s just a show.  No one gets hurt,” said Tazaki.

            “But you were in a _cage!_   And it was going to kill you!”

            Belatedly, Tazaki realized that was probably the worst trick in the world to show Hatano.  He stared helplessly as Hatano started shaking even worse.  The boy clearly didn’t know what to do or how to feel.  And Tazaki didn’t know how to help him.  But he wanted to help the kid.  So bad.  So Tazaki reached out for him, even though he knew he might end up with a broken arm.  He tentatively rested a hand on Hatano’s arm.  And when Hatano didn’t attack, or even flinch, Tazaki grew more confident.  He swept Hatano off his feet, lifting the boy into his arms.  It shouldn’t have been that easy to pick up a teenager, he knew.  But it was.  Hatano was so tiny and thin.  Life had done a number on that boy.  And right then, Tazaki wanted more than anything to fix him.

            He noticed his assistant hovering behind him, and addressed her.  “Tie the show up for me.  Then call Jitsui and send him down to Sublevel D.  I need to get him out of here.”

            His assistant nodded, and forced a smile, then hurried back up on stage to address the audience.  Tazaki heard her smoothing things over as he carried Hatano out of the auditorium and to the elevators.  He kind of had the feeling his assistant wouldn’t actually need to call Jitsui.  Because Jitsui, being the little cyber stalker that he was, was most likely watching the auditorium doors, through the casino’s security cameras, waiting for Hatano to come out, and making sure he got back to Sublevel D alright.  Alarm bells would be going off in his head as he saw Tazaki carrying Hatano out of the auditorium, and Hatano sobbing uncontrollably. 

            People stared as Tazaki passed.  Tazaki ignored them.  They could go to hell as far as he was concerned.  He made it to the nearest elevator.  Not the main elevator that they usually used, but all the casino’s elevators had access to Sublevel D.  If you had the proper clearance for it.  A stern look was all it took to get the people who’d been waiting at the elevator before them to decide to let him use it alone, and wait for the next one.  Tazaki made a mental note to pull the footage and find out what room they were staying in later, so he could make it up to them. 

            “You okay?” Tazaki asked, once the doors had closed and he and Hatano had some privacy.

            Hatano muttered something that was part English, part Japanese, and part at least one other language Tazaki didn’t understand between gasps.  Tazaki frowned.  Then he rested his chin on top of Hatano’s head for a moment, in an approximation of a hug.  It was the best he could do while he was carrying Hatano like that.

            “I’m sorry, Shimano.  I’m so sorry.”

            They arrived on Sublevel D.  Then Tazaki had to make a decision about where to take Hatano.  He considered the boy’s room, or Jitsui’s room.  Then he quickly ruled out Jitsui’s room, because Jitsui’s room was a freaking hazard zone, thanks to Jitsui’s tech hoarding tendencies.  He could also take him to one of their lounges.  But the elevator they had used put them in a hallway very close to Sublevel D’s main kitchen.  And when he realized this, Tazaki also realized that was as good a place as any to take Hatano to now.  Kitchens were safe spaces.  Family places.  Though, technically, with all the knives and other cooking equipment it was probably technically one of the most dangerous rooms on Sublevel D, Tazaki knew, well, he hoped, Hatano would associate the kitchen as being safe because he associated it with spending time with all of them.  Also, there were things to drink on hand, which might also help calm Hatano down.  And food.  Hopefully Jitsui wouldn’t fly into a rage and accuse Tazaki of trying to encourage Hatano to start stress eating or something.  Tazaki didn’t think Jitsui could be any more pissed than he was already going to be, but it didn’t pay to underestimate his temper.  But he didn’t think Jitsui would be any angrier if he gave Hatano food.  They were all of the opinion Hatano needed to eat more.  And Tazaki was a believer in comfort food. 

            He set Hatano down in a chair at the table.  But before he could step away, Hatano reached out quickly with one tiny hand and grabbed a handful of Tazaki’s suit, stopping him.  Then Hatano looked shocked at himself and seemed to realize what he was doing.  He quickly released Tazaki and curled in on himself.  Tazaki rested his hand on top of Hatano’s head.

            “Shh.  It’s alright.  I’m just stepping to the fridge for a second to get something for you, okay?  I’ll be right back.”

            Hatano nodded, jerking his head up and down almost violently.  Not the most reassuring gesture, but Tazaki didn’t want to go back on what he’d just said he was doing.  So he hurried to the fridge and flung it open.  He saw the milk instantly.  He assumed Hatano must like milk, because he was always drinking it.  But then again, that might just be Jitsui’s influence.  So Tazaki grabbed the milk, but scanned the refrigerator for something else to bring the boy.  Something he knew Hatano would like.  Tazaki’s eyes fell on his rows of pudding cups.  Perfect.  He grabbed a chocolate and vanilla swirl cup and hurried back to Hatano.  Then he remembered that he needed a glass and a spoon, so he hurried to retrieve those too.

            “Here, Hatano,” said Tazaki, setting the pudding cup down in front of him.  “This is for you.”

            Hatano looked up.  And Tazaki saw that slight sparkle that was always in his eyes whenever he was given something.  Food or gifts, Hatano didn’t differentiate.  He just liked being given anything.  Even now, even though he was scared and gripped by trauma.  The idea of being given something helped push back the darkness.

            _“Purin,”_ said Hatano, his eyes lighting up a little more.  He looked at Tazaki, as though asking for permission.

            “It’s for you,” said Tazaki again, pushing the pudding cup closer to him.

            Hatano wasted no time tearing the lid off the pudding cup.  Then, to Tazaki’s surprise, he turned the cup upside down, over the lid.

            “Wait!  What are you doing?” Tazaki quickly righted the cup before it could all fall out.

            Hatano stared at what had poured out onto the lid and seemed to be in shock.  Tazaki wondered what he’d thought was going to happen.  Then he remembered seeing pudding cups in anime.  Years ago.  He didn’t even remember what anime it had been.  But he remembered seeing some kids in anime remove pudding from its cups by turning it upside down.  And the pudding had kept its shape, much like flan.

            “Sorry, Hatano,” said Tazaki.  “This isn’t that kind of pudding.  American pudding doesn’t usually hold its shape.  So you have to eat it directly out of the cup, okay?”

            Hatano still looked startled but nodded.

            “Maybe Fukumoto knows how to make pudding you can turn upside down.  I’ll ask him next time I see him.  But in the meantime, please try this pudding.  It’s my favorite,” said Tazaki.  Hatano picked up his spoon and took a bite.

            “It’s good,” Hatano decided immediately. 

            Tazaaki poured Hatano a glass of milk and slid it in front of him.  “Chocolate pudding was always my mom’s favorite.  My dad’s favorite pudding was vanilla.  But I always like the mixed kind best.  But I bet your favorite flavor is caramel.  Am I right?”

            “I . . . I don’t know caramel,” said Hatano.

            “Oh.  Well . . . I don’t know how to explain caramel,” Tazaki admitted.  He wondered if Hatano just didn’t know what the word meant in English or if caramel desserts weren’t popular in Japan, and he’d misinterpreted the pudding he’d seen in anime, and just assumed it was caramel flavored because of its resemblance to flan.  “So I guess I’ll have to show you.  I’ll go out and get you some different caramel candies tomorrow, alright?”

            Another spark in Hatano’s eyes at the prospect of still another present.  How little it took to make him happy.  Tazaki would have offered a whole lot more than a couple dollars worth of candies to chase his fears away. 

            “Shimano . . . I mean Hatano.  I’m so sorry that I scared you,” apologized Tazaki.  He mentally winced when Hatano’s expression grew dark again, as he remembered.  But Tazaki needed to tell him this.  “That whole trick was just that.  Just a trick.  I wasn’t in any danger.  I promise.”

            “I thought you were going to die,” said Hatano, very softly, his voice shaking again.  “I don’t want you to die.  Not in a cage.  Not at all.”

            “I’m so sorry,” said Tazaki.  “I never meant to worry you like this.  I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

            Hatano nodded.  Then bowed his head.  “I’m sorry I was bad.”

            “You weren’t,” said Tazaki quickly.  “That wasn’t your fault, Hatano.  It was mine.  I should have called the trick off the moment I knew you were there.  I should have thought about how you’d feel about that trick if you ever saw it and taken it out of all my acts weeks ago.  I’m going to do that now.  So you don’t have to worry.  I’m never doing that trick again.”

            Hatano nodded again.  “Good.  I don’t want you to die.”

            Hatano didn’t seem to be able to get past the idea of that trick meaning Tazaki would die in a cage.  At least not yet.  Hopefully he’d be able to someday.  But even when that day came, Tazaki still wouldn’t be adding it back into his repertoire.  He didn’t think Hatano would ever be able to see it and not remember.  And Tazaki would rather give that trick up than risk dragging up memories that bad for Hatano ever again. 

            Jitsui arrived a few minutes later.  Worked up and worried, but surprisingly not furious at Tazaki.  Something Tazaki was very relieved about.  He didn’t think Kaminaga would have been given the benefit of the doubt if he’d been the one to send Hatano into hysterics.  But, well, after all the stunts Kaminaga had pulled, Tazaki would admit he might not deserve the benefit of the doubt. 

            Tazaki stuck around even after Jitsui settled in, and even though Hatano had mostly calmed down.  It wasn’t so much that he was determined to pay penitence for upsetting Hatano as that he wanted to do what he could to make him feel better.  He genuinely liked Hatano.  He had since he first met the kid.  Even before meeting him, after reading what information Jitsui had dug up on his past, and hearing from Kaminaga about the state he’d been in when they found him, Tazaki had wanted to help him.  It wasn’t often that D-Agency set out to save someone.  Most of their off books ventures were motivated by revenge and retribution.  Or money.  Since it was expensive to finance revenge and retribution.  But every now and then it was nice to help someone that they knew only they could help.  Tazaki was sure that no one else in the world would have been able to help Hatano readjust to the world as well as they were.  Whatever system the government would have put him in “for his own good” would have ruined him completely.  But with them, he was getting better.  And even though he’d never intended to send Hatano into a fit, Tazaki couldn’t deny being touched that Hatano cared enough about him to get that upset about the idea of him dying.  And that Hatano had tried to save him.

            Sitting there in the kitchen, with Jitsui and Hatano, all three of them eating pudding cups and drinking milk, Tazaki realized something.  He’d given Hatano a number of material gifts since they’d taken the boy in.  A deck of cards, some manga volumes, a custom ordered shirt with a cute chibi-style pigeon on it, to compete with Fukumoto and Kaminaga.  But not the gift he gave every other child he crossed paths with in the casino.

            “Hatano.  I want to show you another magic trick.  One that’s not scary at all.  Is that alright?” asked Tazaki.  He kept a wary eye on Jitsui, in case Jitsui got mad and violently vetoed it.  But it seemed his long track record of not teasing Hatano and sending him into hysterics worked in his favor, because Jitsui didn’t even frown at him.  It was good to be trusted.

            Hatano was hesitant for a moment, but nodded, after a quick look at Jitsui for reassurance.

            “You see my hands are empty,” said Tazaki, holding them with their palms toward Hatano so the boy could clearly see.  “Nothing in them.  Nothing at all, right?”

            “Right,” said Hatano, leaning forward a bit more eagerly, getting drawn into the magic.

            “Oh no?”  Tazaki cupped his hands together and used a bit of sleight of hand.  “Then where did this come from?”  He opened them to revealed one of his tiny pigeon plushies. 

            Hatano grinned and clapped his hands.  Then his grin lit up even brighter when Tazaki handed the stuffed pigeon to him.  “For me?”

            “A baby bird for our baby bird,” said Tazaki, patting him on the head. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Omake

(After Hatano has been put to bed)

 

            “Seriously, Tazaki?”  The look on Jitsui’s face could only be described as a sneer.

            Tazaki winced.  He’d thought that his mistake had been forgiven.  But he guessed he still had some making up to do.  “I’m sorry.  I had no idea he was in the audience.  But I should have thought about this.  I should have cut that trick from all my acts weeks ago.”

            Jitsui gave a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Yes, you should have.  But I trust you’re not planning to perform that trick here ever again.”

            “No, never –”

            “But that’s not what I’m talking about right now.”

            “Then what?”

            “That pigeon plushy?  Seriously?” Jitsui gave him a look full of scorn.  “That ridiculously tiny thing?  Why even bother with a plushy that small?”

            “I don’t –”

            “Go big on the plushy or go home!”

            The next day a life-size hammerhead shark plushy, nearly as big as Hatano himself, was delivered to D-Agency.  Jitsui presented it to Hatano with much fanfare.  Hatano was overjoyed.  And Jitsui spent the next month giving Tazaki superior smirks and making “size does matter” jokes.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: This chapter/side story is a gift for bopbopbiddyboo, who wanted to know more about the Chapter 16 line: "And . . . after that first time a younger Hatano saw one of his shows and completely flipped out, thinking Tazaki was about to die."

 

With special thanks to Tivanny for inspiration for the omake.  (That picture she drew awhile back, of Hatano drinking milk, with Jitsui beside him, and that giant hammerhead plushie)  :D  The line “Go big on the plushy or go home” is all hers.

 

Some new fanart has been drawn since last chapter, and this time it’s all about Usa-chan.  And strawberries, lol. :)

 

 

First, Tivanny drew this adorable picture of Hatano feeding Usa-chan a strawberry, while he himself is fed a strawberry by Jitsui.  It’s so nice to have someone take such good care of you, lol.  I don’t know who has it better, Usa-chan or Hatano.  <http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/image/152334872681>

 

 

Then Aoi_Kitsukawa drew an Inktober sketch of the scene where Tazaki discovers Usa-chan in a box, eating strawberries, after Yuuki-san put her there, to keep her safely out of the way.  Please note the scheming, evil aura that manifests itself around this crafty little bunny in the form of seemingly innocent sparkles, lol.

<http://marrylissa.tumblr.com/post/152339701502/day-26-box-once-again-this-scene-is-taken>

 

 

Then, right as I was proofreading this chapter, I got one more. :) Meridian Blue has sculpted a three dimensional Usa-chan here, chowing down on another strawberry.  Usa-chan’s eyes match her strawberry.  And the green screen background is very fitting, lol.  <http://meridianblue.tumblr.com/image/152713730741>

 


	25. God Is In The Rain

Gift chapter for Meridian Blue

 

Set shortly after D-Agency takes Hatano in.  Featuring kid!Hatano and soaked!Jitsui

Pre-series.  Post _Hatano’s Origin._   Post _Death Defying._

 

 

* * *

 

 

            It doesn’t rain often in Las Vegas.  But when it does, three things are assured.

            1: It doesn’t just rain.  It literally _pours._

            2: Your windshield wipers won’t work.  The sun will have warped the blades, and all they’ll do is just move the water around on your windshield.

            And 3: You won’t be expecting it. 

            All three of these held true the first time it rained after D-Agency took in Hatano.  And of course, when that happened, Jitsui just happened to be out, running errands.

            Normally he took Hatano with him, when he left the casino.  Hatano loved it at the casino, but he loved going out too.  But not on his own.  He clung to the men of D-Agency, his saviors.  Not in a bad way, but in an adorable way.  He didn’t want to leave the casino without one of them at his side, but he loved going out, anywhere with them.  Especially with Jitsui, much to Jitsui’s delight.  It was a very novel experience, having someone like him so much, and want to be around him all the time.  But today Hatano was seeing one of his tutors, in person, and Jitsui’s soldering tweezers suddenly died.  He needed a new pair, to work on a circuit board he needed for an upcoming off books job, so an immediate trip to the nearest hardware store was in order. 

            It was on his way back that the downpour began.  Violent, monsoon-like rain began falling out of the sky so hard, its pounding on the roof of Jitsui’s car made it sound like there was some wild animal trying to get in.  Soon, the water was so thick in the air in front of him, that Jitsui could barely see the lights of the car in front of him.  His windshield wipers being sun damaged and useless didn’t help with that one bit.  Reluctantly, he pulled off the road, into a parking lot, to wait the storm out.  Right as a silvery-gold tongue of lightning split the sky overhead, reaching toward over the city and toward the Strip.  The roar of thunder that accompanied it was so loud, it even made Jitsui jump.

            Suddenly worried, Jitsui pulled out his phone.  He had no idea how Hatano would react to a thunderstorm.  Losing power at D-Agency wasn’t so much an issue.  They had a backup generator, and a backup for their back up.  In addition to many, many of their pieces of electronic equipment having built in, and constantly charging batteries, to prevent those devices from suddenly losing power.  Between those, and the emergency lighting, which was well above the all safety codes, all throughout the Casino, including down in Sublevel D, he didn’t have to worry about Hatano being in the dark.  He’d learned that Hatano really hated the dark.  But though he knew Hatano was alright with loud noises, thunderstorms were a completely different monster.  Many children were scared of them.  And Hatano was still very much a child.

            I need to get him his own phone, Jitsui thought, as he dialed Tazaki.  Tazaki didn’t have a show at the moment.  He was the most likely to be free to go find Hatano, keep him company, and make sure he was okay.

            “Hello, Jitsui,” Tazaki greeted him.

            “Hi,” said Jitsui.  “Can you go to Conference Room 7 and find Hatano for me?  And stay with him until the storm’s over?  I’m outside the casino, and I had to pull over because of the rain.”

            “Alright,” Tazaki agreed immediately.  “Is he scared of thunder?”

            “I don’t know,” Jitsui admitted.  “Hopefully not, but if he is, I don’t want him to be alone.”

            Well, technically, he was with his tutor.  But his tutor didn’t know his situation.  No one outside of D-Agency’s inner circle had been told any more about Hatano than they absolutely needed to know.  There were many speculations amongst the casino’s regular staff.  And for a few days, those speculations had run rampant.  Until Jitsui gave them some encouragement to stop stupidly gossiping about things that were none of their business if they ever wanted to be able to unlock their smartphones again.  And Miyoshi had reminded them of the Nondisclosure Agreements they’d signed when they were employed here.  Since then, all gossip about Hatano had been reduced to whispers, that Jitsui had carefully monitored.  It was generally agreed among the regular employees that D-Agency had adopted Hatano to help him, even though they were still undecided whether he was a recently liberated child soldier or just a talented scrapper D Agency had removed from a horribly abusive home.  But his tutors didn’t know any of this.  They had never been witness to or heard the rumors of the few sort of violent outbursts Hatano had had since D-Agency took him in.  This was the first time he had ever met one of his tutors face to face.  So unlike the regular employees, his tutor would have no idea what was wrong, or what to do, if something went wrong with Hatano.

            “I’m on my way to the conference room,” said Tazaki.  “I’ll call you back when I get there.”

            “Thanks.”

            Jitsui hung up his phone and stared out at the streams of water pouring down the windshield.  If he stepped outside, he would be completely soaked within seconds.  The rain couldn’t be coming down harder if it was coming out of a high pressure showerhead.  Normally, he was indifferent to the rain.  Sometimes he even enjoyed it, since the weather in the desert was boring and too much of the same, most of the year.  But now it was keeping him from his . . . his . . . well, he wasn’t quite sure what Hatano was to him.  For a short while, he’d intended to adopt Hatano as his son, but that had been vetoed by the others, for well thought out reasons that Jitsui had been forced to accept.  But Hatano was still very important to him.  He cared about that boy in a way he’d never cared about anyone before.  Hatano needed him, depended on him, and looked up to him.  Not being able to be there for him now, when he knew Hatano might need him, grated on Jitsui’s nerves. 

            His phone rang.  Jitsui answered it immediately.  “Tazaki?”

            “Hey, don’t freak out, but I haven’t found him yet,” said Tazaki.  “He’s not in the conference room.  A member of the housekeeping staff was here cleaning when I got here.  She says Hatano’s session with his tutor ended about twenty minutes ago.  Does that sound right?”

            That momentary feeling of freaking out Jitsui had started to feel right when Tazaki told him not to freak out subsided as Jitsui realized that was right.  “Oh.  Yes.  I forgot.  His session ended at the top of the hour.”  Which meant Hatano not being in the conference room was probably not a kidnapping.  Probably.  There was no reason for Hatano to stay in the conference room once his tutor was gone.  So he’d probably either gone back down to Sublevel D.  Or to Fukumoto’s bar, where he sometimes went to do his homework, because Fukumoto doted on him with virgin banana daiquiris, extra cherries, and bar snack sampler plates.  Or sometimes he went outside, because he really loved being outside after so many years locked in a dark cage.  Or he could have gone looking for Jitsui.  Jitsui started feeling that freaking out feeling again as he realized his kid could be anywhere in D-Agency.

            “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” Tazaki asked knowingly.  “After I specifically told you not to.”

            “I’m not freaking out,” said Jitsui tersely.

            “Don’t worry.  I’ll go find him for you,” said Tazaki.  “I’m sure he’s fine.  The casino’s walls are thick.  He probably doesn’t even know it’s storming.  If he’s down on Sublevel D, he definitely doesn’t even know it’s storming.”

            “Yes.  Right,” agreed Jitsui.  What Tazaki said was practical and probably true.  But did nothing to alleviate Jitsui’s worries.  “I’m going to start driving again.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

            “Jitsui,” Tazaki groaned, and sounded like he was going to protest, but then stopped.  “Just . . . be careful.  Don’t get in a wreck.  The kid’s going to be fine.  You know he is.”

            Jitsui did know he would be fine.  Because Jitsui was going to make sure of it.  The thought of Hatano alone somewhere and scared filled Jitsui with the worst kind of dread.  That was the exact thing he’d sworn to protect Hatano from when he took him in!  He couldn’t be failing already!  That child saved Jitsui’s life!  And he’d brought something new and bright and beautiful into Jitsui’s life.  Jitsui had to be able to at least do this much for him to pay him back!

            “I’ll see you soon,” he told Tazaki, and set down his phone.  Then he started his car and drove out of the parking lot, back onto the road.  The rain was just as bad as before, and his windshield wipers just as useless.  But thankfully Jitsui had good vision and good reflexes, and the roads were not as busy now.  Some other people had pulled off to wait out the rain, or else arrived at their destinations, and very few other people were starting to drive anywhere in this downpour.  Jitsui drove as fast as he deemed was safe.

            Every now and then he glanced down at his phone.  Hoping it would ring.  But it didn’t.  And the rain was still coming down so hard as Jitsui pulled off the street, to the back of the casino where trucks would pull up for deliveries.  Because that was, Jitsui knew from experience, the fastest route to the control room.  The service hallways gave him a direct route.  One where he wouldn’t have to shove any guests out of his way in his haste.  He could find Hatano on the cameras by tracing his route out of the conference room, after his session with his tutor ended.  That would be the fastest, surest way to find him in the casino.  If he was still in the casino.  Jitsui had to believe he was still in the casino.  He wouldn’t have left on his own, right?  He hated leaving the casino without another member of the inner circle with him.  But Hatano was so tiny and cute, and what if someone had taken him?  And yes, Jitsui knew how unlikely it was someone could have taken Hatano if he didn’t want to go, and gotten out of the casino without Hatano raising the biggest fuss and breaking their bones, but Jitsui was so scared he couldn’t think straight.  He wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw Hatano was safe with his own eyes.

            He pulled his car up to the door for kitchen deliveries and jumped out, not caring that his car was blocking the route for any grocery delivery trucks.  He had his kid to find!  He fumbled with his casino ID as he ran up to the door, so he’d have it ready to unlock, when a sound reached his ears that chilled him worse than the freezing, stinging rain.  He heard Hatano screaming. 

            Immediately, Jitsui sprinted back to his car, and opened the trunk.  Beneath the mat on the floor was a hidden compartment with a small weapons cache.  Jitsui tore it open and pulled out a handgun, shoved it into the back of the waistline of his pants, to use as a spare, then pulled out a submachine gun.  Whoever was fucking with his kid was going to regret it.

            Hatano screamed again and Jitsui started running.  He wanted to call out to him, and let him know he was on the way, but that would steal the element of surprise from him.  So instead he ran as fast as he could, turning the corner to find . . . Hatano alone.  Unharmed.  But completely soaked.  Jumping up and down in a puddle as the water poured down all around him.  Spinning, squealing, laughing.  He looked so happy, Jitsui couldn’t help but feel his heart clench at the sight.

            Hatano seemed to feel Jitsui’s gaze on him, because he turned and peered in his direction, then an even wider grin spread across his face.

            “Jitsui!  Jitsuiiiiiiiii!”  He bounded forward, toward Jitsui, splashing up water with every step, and stopped several feet in front of him, beaming.  And he stretched his hands up and outward, toward the sky.  “Rain, Jitsui!  It’s rain!  It’s rain!”

            “Yes,” Jitsui said, smiling at him.  “Yes it is.”

            “It’s been forever since I’ve seen it!” Hatano cried out.  “I forgot about it.  But it’s so beautiful!  Look at it!”

            Lightning split the sky overhead, in its silvery-gold glory, and Jitsui jumped at the thunder that roared through the air like a sonic shockwave in the lightning’s wake.  Hatano jumped too.  But not in shock.  He jumped at Jitsui, and suddenly Jitsui found himself with his arms full of soaking wet little boy.  It was rather like having your arms full of a wet puppy.  But he didn’t mind in the least.  Hatano just looked so happy.  He was grinning up at Jitsui as rain cascaded down over both of them.  After just a minute in the rain, Jitsui was nearly soaked as thoroughly as Hatano was.  He made sure to keep his machine gun pointed away from Hatano, as he hugged the boy, still a little shocked at how things were turning out. 

            “Beautiful,” Hatano said, staring straight into Jitsui’s eyes.

            “Yes,” Jitsui responded.  He had to speak loudly to be heard.  “This is quite a sight.  It doesn’t rain often in Vegas, but when it does –”

            “It’s beautiful!” Hatano shrieked, jumping up and down.

            Jitsui laughed and used the hand that wasn’t holding the gun to ruffle Hatano’s hair.  “You’re a little wet, you know that?”

            “It’s okay!  It’s _rain!_ ”

            It was almost heartbreaking how something so little could make him so happy.  Since taking in Hatano, Jitsui had been forced to consider how all kinds of horrible things must have felt.  Like being locked in a cage for five years.  Being deprived of food to the point where having more than one meal a day seemed like a godsend.  And now, not seeing rain for five whole years. 

            Jitsui pulled Hatano closer to him, hugging him tight.  There was no way to protect Hatano from all the terrible things that had already happened to him.  But he wanted to so much.  But he supposed the next best thing was protecting him from every bad thing that might hurt him in the future.  And making sure that he enjoyed as many of life’s precious moments as possible from here on out. 

            He and Hatano stayed out in the storm as long as it lasted, Hatano laughing, spinning, and squealing all the while.  And when it was over, Jitsui took him up to the casino’s roof, so they’d have the best view of the rainbow that arched across the desert sky. 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: This chapter is a gift fic for Meridian Blue who requested “a short story about the first time Hatano sees the rain, after being liberated from the Ring by D-Agency.”  I hope this is all that you were hoping it would be. :)

 

I’ll try not to overindulge with the kid!Hatano side stories in this fic, but these were both requests/trades.  Though I was very happy to do them, lol, because everyone knows Hatano’s my favorite.  But I’ll try to space out future kid!Hatano side stories better after this. 

 

The title of this chapter was inspired by a quote from the movie _V for Vendetta_.  It’s an old movie, but it’s really, really good. :)


	26. Marry That Girl

Gift chapter for [Aoi_Kitsukawa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoi_Kitsukawa/pseuds/Aoi_Kitsukawa)

 

 

Set shortly after Tazaki joins D-Agency.

Pre-series.

 

* * *

 

 

           “For the record, I still think this is hazing,” said Tazaki, digging his fingernails into the top of the chair as Kaminaga pulled the laces of his corset tight.  It . . . wasn’t as bad as he’d always heard wearing a corset was.  They’d explained to him that they had theirs custom made by a Cosplay shop in Japan, so they were padded in the right places and didn’t need to be laced so tight.  But it still wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

            “We are an organized crime family,” said Kaminaga said with a tone of mock offense in his voice.  “We do not haze.  This is an important learning exercise.  One that we have all gone through –”

            “In other words, hazing,” Tazaki asserted.

            “Where you learn skills that you will use probably literally every year,” said Kaminaga.  “I’m serious.  You would not believe how often the need to cross dress arises.  The longest I’ve gone without having to get into a serious disguise is eight months.  And there was a stint in our earlier days when Miyoshi was putting on pantyhose and lacing up his corset literally almost every other night.”

            “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this arrangement,” muttered Tazaki.  Then he quickly backtracked.  “Not really.  That was just a joke.  I –”

            “You’re allowed to quit,” said Kaminaga, pausing in his work.  “You’re allowed to walk away.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.  I hope you know that.”

            “I do,” said Tazaki.  “I did my research on you guys before I committed to this.  If I thought you were all just a bunch of murderous psychopaths, I’d have gone off the grid.”

            “So we passed your ethics test?” Kaminaga asked brightly.

            “More or less,” said Tazaki.  “I’m not a fan of bloodshed –”

            “You should try it.  You might find you like it,” interrupted Kaminaga with a smirk.

            “-but I recognize that sometimes the only way to get rid of a problem is to, well, get rid of it,” sighed Tazaki.  “And when the problem is a person . . .”

            Kaminaga made a gun finger and pantomimed shooting someone.

            “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to kill anyone for you, though,” said Tazaki quickly.  “I already cleared this with Yuuki and Miyoshi, and they were alright with it.  But I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to –”

            “It’s alright,” Kaminaga cut him off.  “If you’re really averse to killing then you shouldn’t have to.”  He finished tightening Tazaki’s laces and tied them off.  “Amari’s only ever killed in self defense.  And Miyoshi kills, but he’d rather leave it to me, Fukumoto, or Odagiri.  He doesn’t like getting his pretty clothes bloody, you see.”

            Tazaki could definitely see.

            “Learning to cross dress, however, isn’t optional,” said Kaminaga.  “The Metro is constantly trying to stalk us, and this is Vegas, so there are cameras everywhere, all over the place.  We can’t avoid them all, so we simply have to make sure the cameras capture the image of someone else.”

            “And our adversaries haven’t caught on yet, that there seems to be an endless supply of pretty Japanese women doing our work for us?” asked Tazaki.

            Kaminaga gave him a pleased look.  Probably because of how he referred to their adversaries as “our adversaries.”  Putting himself in with the rest of D-Agency.  But he gave Tazaki a straight answer.  “Well, I’m sure you know this by now, but most Americans can’t tell someone who’s Japanese, from Chinese, from Vietnamese, from Thai, from Korean.  You’re going to end up learning enough of all those languages to be conversational, at least.  And a few others.  And beyond that, when it comes to people who are half-Asian, like a couple of us are, we get mistaken for being Hispanic and Native American without even doing anything to disguise ourselves.  Sometimes even Native Hawaiian.  And with a little bit of effort, and by effort I mean eye-liner, it’s not too hard to pass as Caucasian.  And no, no one’s made the connection between us and the various women of many different races who sometimes appear in places of interest related to our various crimes.  There are always people you’re never going to be able to identify on security footage.  And our disguises are top notch.  Plus we never use the same one twice.  Here.  Try this on.”

            Tazaki accepted the garment bag that Kaminaga handed him and opened it up to reveal a gauzy, seafoam green dress, designed in an Asian influenced style.  It looked like the kind of dress you’d see a princess or court lady wearing in a fantasy kung fu movie.

            “This –”

            “Don’t be shy.  I’m sure it will look great on you,” encouraged Kaminaga. 

            Tazaki sighed and removed the dress from its hanger.  He carefully put it on, worried about ripping the gauzy material, it looked so sheer and flimsy.  The dress had a sewn in sash that tied in the back.  Kaminaga took care of that for him without being asked.  Then his crime syndicate senpai twisted him around to face a mirror.

            “Just look at yourself,” said Kaminaga.  “You’re well on your way to becoming a great beauty.”

            “I look like a man in a dress,” said Tazaki dryly.  “Oh wait, that’s because I am a man in a dress.”

            “Hm.  But you’d be amazed what the right wig and a little makeup can do,” said Kaminaga.  “And of course the right pair of shoes.  Have you ever worn heels before?”

            “What do you think?”

            “Ah, well then I guess you probably don’t know, but a lot of heeled shoes are designed to make you stand in ways that shift your muscles into seductive angles,” said Kaminaga.  “Especially the muscles in your butt.  And calves.  They’re not exactly comfortable, but Miyoshi is fond of saying that beauty hurts.  So don’t complain to him about them, you’ll get no sympathy.”

            “Good to know,” said Tazaki. 

            “Come this way,” said Kaminaga, leading him away from the mirrors.  “Let’s get you the other stuff you need.”

            Within minutes, Kaminaga had filled Tazaki’s hands with a pair of thick tights made to look like sheer pantyhose, a silver necklace with a jade pendant that would cover his Adam’s apple, a pair of wedge-heeled shoes made with pieces of natural-finished, polished wood giving the shoes their wedge shapes, and a white clutch purse. 

            “It’s the little things that sell the look,” said Kaminaga, as he fitted a black, pixie-cut wig over Tazaki’s real hair.  There wasn’t much more hair on the wig than there was to his real hair.  But he decided to trust that Kaminaga knew what he was doing.  “Real women have silly little purses that aren’t big enough to hold everything they need in them.   Therefore, we need silly little purses that aren’t big enough to hold everything a woman would need in them.  Amongst other things.  Like ridiculously large sunglasses that cover half our faces.  That are too big to fit in our tiny little purses.  And pieces of cloth to wrap around our necks that will help people strangle us if they’ve a mind to.”

            “You mean scarves?”

            “Yes, those,” said Kaminaga.  “But thankfully, we don’t always need everything at the same time.  Put those tights on.  I’ll grab a makeup kit.”

            Tazaki obeyed with a sigh.  Then went ahead and strapped on the shoes, since he figured that was inevitable.  Kaminaga returned with the promised makeup kit and something else.  A small box full of magnetic earrings.  He removed a pair with tiny jade triangles and put them on Tazaki.  Then he went to work with the makeup kit.

            “You do this a lot?” asked Tazaki, in between Kaminaga’s orders to do things like suck his cheeks in like he was making a fish face, or close his eyes for long periods of time.

            “Put makeup on other people?  No, not too often.  But it’s the same concept as putting makeup on myself.  Which I do far more often than I would actually like to.  But it works.  Amazingly well.  I was surprised just how well at first,” said Kaminaga.  “But now I wonder why more people don’t employee these kinds of techniques.  Now, close your eyes again.”

            Tazaki obeyed.

            “Keep them closed,” Kaminaga ordered, and Tazaki felt the chair he was sitting on being wheeled back toward the mirrors.  “No peeking!”

            “Trust me, I’m not.  I’m scared about what I’m going to see.”

            “Are you worried I didn’t do a good job?  Or that I did too good a job?” asked Kaminaga.

            “Both?”

            Kaminaga laughed.  Then the chair came to a stop.  “Now, stand up.  Keeping your eyes closed.  I want you to get the full effect.”

            Tazaki stood up carefully, mindful of the fact that he had literal deathtraps on his feet, masquerading as shoes.

            “Alright.  Now open your eyes.”

            Tazaki did.  And found himself staring at a smoking hot Asian beauty in a sea green dress.

            “And now you know how Narcissus felt, in Greek mythology,” said Kaminaga.

            “I’m not that bad.”

            “Good.  One Miyoshi is all D-Agency can handle,” said Kaminaga.

            Tazaki tried hard not to stare too much at his reflection, but his eyes kept getting drawn back to it, against his will.  Was it wrong to think he looked hot like this?  Yes, it probably was, he knew.  But he couldn’t help but appreciate the view.  Kaminaga had used foundation to make his clean shaven skin appear all the same tone, like it was perfectly clear, then dusted it with tinted powder to make it look more vibrant.  His eyes were enhanced with black eyeliner and green eye shadow.  Not too much, just enough to pull his look together.  And his lips were an innocent shade of pink.

            “That’s a good look on you, if I do say so myself,” said Kaminaga cheerfully.

            “Thank you?”

            “You’re welcome.  I wouldn’t be able to pull that off.  Miyoshi’s the only other one of us who could, in fact.  The rest of us have the wrong build.  And our Adam’s apples are too big.  Which is where those strangulation cloths come in handy for us.  Or else we wear some kind of big, collared necklace, or high collared dress or blouse.  You’re lucky your Adam’s apple is fairly undefined.”

            “If you say so,” said Tazaki, looking deliberately away from the mirror.

            Kaminaga shoved his clutch purse into his hands.  “I do say so.  Now come on.  We’re going out on the town.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            It was a test as well as a dry run in cross dressing skills and acting.  Tazaki wasn’t sure whether or not he was lucky that it was Vegas that he was doing this in.  Because on the one hand, there were so many people bearing witness to this.  But on the other, what happened in Vegas usually stays in Vegas.  So if Tazaki epically blew this, then at least it probably wouldn’t spread. 

            He made his crossdressing debut at another casino.  Kaminaga came along to observe, and help him if he floundered too badly.  But mostly, to smirk at him, with eyes that promised he was going to make fun of him when this was all over, for a long time to come.  But despite that, Tazaki did his best.  He smiled vapidly at the many men who tried to pick him up, doing his best not to lead anyone on.  But he did blow on some dice, and let some guys buy him drinks.  Then, finally getting tired of watching Kaminaga watch him from across the room with that annoying smirk on his face, Tazaki finally decided that he’d had enough of that.  So, as a solution, he walked across the floor, gave Kaminaga the most dazzling smile he could, then latched onto his arm.

            “What’s a nice guy like you doing hiding in a corner like this?”

            Kaminaga smirked and answered softly.  “Filming you through my glasses camera.”

            Tazaki blinked and took a closer look at the glasses Kaminaga was wearing for his disguise.  They didn’t look suspicious . . . but considering how small cameras and other tech were getting these days, you could never be sure anymore.

            “And you’re not bored?  Just hanging out over here like some kind of stalker?” Tazaki asked.  “Aren’t you supposed to be my date?  What kind of man lets his girl wander around a casino, getting hit on by other guys, and staying fifty feet away at all times?  One with a restraining order?”

            Kaminaga raised an eyebrow.  “Well, what do you want me to do?  Dance with you?”

            He meant it as a joke, Tazaki could tell, thinking he’d be turned down.  Which was probably why he put his hands on his hips and fixed him with the most childish, petulant look he could muster.  “Yes.”

            Then it was Kaminaga’s turn to blink.  Then he laughed and shook his head.  “Well.  Why the hell not?”

            They ended up going into one of the casino bars with a jukebox to dance.  Tazaki made Kaminaga pay for the music.  Because there wasn’t enough room in his tiny little purse for money, you see.  Then Tazaki was faced with another challenge.  He had no idea how to dance like a girl.

            “Didn’t think this through, did you?” asked Kaminaga when Tazaki stalled, looking lost at the upbeat music blaring from the jukebox.

            “No,” Tazaki admitted.  “How do I do this?  You’re my instructor.  So instruct.”

            Kaminaga shook his head.  “Dancing lessons require a lot more time than we have now.  I was spared the women’s ballroom dancing lessons, on account of my broader shoulders, but I don’t think you’ll be that lucky.  But honestly . . . I don’t actually know how to fast dance like a woman.  So . . .”  Kaminaga then took both of Tazaki’s hands and lifted them up, and placed them behind his neck.  Then he put his own hands down on Tazaki’s waist.  “We slow dance.”

            “To a fast song?” asked Tazaki with a slight laugh.

            “We’re in Vegas.  We can do what we want.”

            “We . . . kind of live in Vegas.  And will continue to for the foreseeable future,” pointed out Tazaki.

            “Yes.  So, we can do what we want for the foreseeable future,” said Kaminaga practically.

            They were the only ones in the bar dancing.  Which meant they attracted a fair amount of attention, as the only ones on the small dancefloor in front of the jukebox. 

            “You are surprisingly not all tensed up and embarrassed about this,” said Kaminaga softly.  “Yet somehow I don’t get the feeling you’ve done this before.”

            “No.  But I perform for a living,” said Tazaki.  “Putting on magic shows is different from acting.  But I think the confidence you need for it is the same.”

            “Hm,” said Kaminaga, like he was considering something.  “I think I get what you mean.  Photography used to be a hobby of mine.  Whenever one of my pics was in a show, I was always on pins and needles.”

            “It takes a lot to put a piece of yourself out there in the world,” said Tazaki. 

            “It’s scary,” Kaminaga agreed. 

            “Why’d you stop?” Tazaki asked.

            “Mm, life, I guess,” said Kaminaga.  There was something slightly bitter in his voice.  “Stuff happened.”

            “I know the feeling,” said Tazaki sympathetically.  “I think you know how much.  I’m sure you had access to the background check Miyoshi ran on me.”

            “Yes,” Kaminaga said, unabashedly.  “Sorry about the intrusion and all that.  But we needed to know what made you . . . well, you.  We don’t just invite anyone into D-Agency.”

            “So I’ve been told.”  Once, Tazaki would have never even dreamed of joining the mafia or some violent criminal organization.  But D-Agency wasn’t your average mafia family.  They were mafia and they were family, but . . . they were a family bound by something other than blood.  Past tragedies seemed to be the common ground holding them together, along with a thirst for revenge, and a desire to right wrongs that the legal system was denying them.  After learning a bit about them, Tazaki was happy to lend a hand in helping them.  After all, sticking it to corrupt systems was his bread and butter.

            “Hey,” Tazaki said, then realized that what he was about to say next might not be welcomed, and hesitated.

            “What’s up?” asked Kaminaga.

            “You . . . you should try taking up photography again,” said Tazaki.  “Maybe not to make a career out of it now or anything but just . . . as a hobby.  For fun.  If you enjoyed it once, you might again now.”

            “Hm.”  Kaminaga didn’t sound convinced.

            “I’ll admit I don’t know entirely what I’m talking about.  And I don’t know your situation.  But magic was always my hobby.  And when I was a kid I knew right from the start I wanted to be a professional magician.  But then, that got put on hold when . . . well, when life happened, and I knew I needed to make as much money as I could.  When I thought my mom would live long enough that my money would make a difference for her.  So magic became just a hobby.  Something to impress girls at parties.  But after she was gone . . .” Tazaki shrugged, even though he was still holding Kaminaga around the neck.

            “You combined it with your natural talents for thievery and conning, and made it big, while simultaneously sticking it to the system,” said Kaminaga, smiling broadly.  “That’s a wonderfully inspiring story.  Has Disney called you for the rights yet?”

            “No, but Summit Entertainment has.”

            “Heh.  Well, I’ll keep what you said in mind,” said Kaminaga.  “You could be right.  It might be fun, just snapping some pictures now and then.”

            Right then was when the music ended.  Tazaki looked at Kaminaga, miffed.  “You only paid for one song?”

            “Yes.  Because by dancing to just one song and one song alone, we’ve officially established that song is our song,” said Kaminaga matter of factly. 

            “Hm.  Well, okay.”

            “Excuse me?”  They both twisted to see an elderly lady dressed like a stereo-typical slot machine addicted old lady, in a pastel pants suit, with white gloves and a hat with a little bit of netting on it, approaching them.  “I just wanted to tell you two that you are the most adorable couple I’ve seen in years.  I was watching you two dance.  And I can tell that you’re really, really in love.”

            “Awww,” said Tazaki, trying to force a blush.  “Thank you.”

            The elderly lady then fixed a stare on Kaminaga.  “You should marry that girl, son.  She’s a keeper.”

            “That she is, ma’am,” said Kaminaga, completely straight faced.

            Then the little old lady continued on her way, probably back to the slot machines.

            “Don’t bite your lip, sugar,” Kaminaga cautioned.  “That’s how you get lipstick on your teeth.”

            “I can’t help it,” said Tazaki.  “I’m trying very hard not to laugh right now.”

            “Here,” said Kaminaga leaning in close.  “I’ll make it look like I’m whispering something in your ear.  Alright.  Now you can laugh.  Just grab my hand and be all affectionate toward me to sell the lie.”

            So Tazaki did.  Then he wrapped Kaminaga’s hand around his waist and nudged Kaminaga in the direction of the bar.  He wanted a drink.

            “We could, you know,” said Kaminaga, as he guided Tazaki toward the bar.

            “We could what?” asked Tazaki.

            “Get married,” said Kaminaga.  “If we wanted to.”

            “Because this is Vegas?” asked Tazaki.

            “Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Epilogue (A couple years later)

 

            Hatano turned on the light of Kaminaga’s room and looked around curiously.  This was the first time he’d ever been in here.  Jitsui told him not to go into anyone’s room without their permission.  Except Jitsui’s own.  Jitsui said he could come to him any time, day or night, if he needed him, or hang out in his room if he wanted, even if he wasn’t there.  But to stay out of other peoples’ rooms unless they said so, or it was an emergency, to respect their privacy.  But Kaminaga had sent him here to choose a DVD, so he had permission now.  Hatano had been ecstatic to learn that Studio Ghibli had released so many movies since . . .

            Hatano shook his head, banishing the bad thoughts.  He had a new life now.  With his new family.  And he knew that if his parents could talk to him, they’d tell him it was alright to be happy again.

            Besides, this was a rare opportunity to look at Kaminaga’s stuff and not be bad.  He wouldn’t look too close.  Just a long glance around as he made his way toward the shelves where the DVDs were.  But it was too bad he didn’t have much time.  Kaminaga had a lot of pictures on his walls.  Hatano would have liked to look at all of them, but that would take longer than he thought was polite.  He didn’t want to be bad.  Not to Kaminaga.  Not when Kaminaga was letting him choose a movie and making popcorn for them to eat while they watched it. 

            But the photographs, Hatano could tell at a a glance, were of all sorts of varied things.  The desert.  The city.  Some plants.  A rainstorm.  And many of the people of D-Agency.  Hatano tried not to look at those, because they were too tempting.  He knew that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  So he hurried to the DVD shelves.  There was more than DVDs on them.  There were books too, and some odd knickknacks.  Some cameras.  And some photographs in standing frames.  Pictures that Kaminaga couldn’t have taken, because he was in them, with some other people.  Mostly people that Hatano didn’t recognize, but one with him and Miyoshi, and others with him and Tazaki.  A certain one stood out, however, and startled Hatano enough that he couldn’t help picking it up for a closer look, just to make sure he was seeing it right.  And he was.  His eyes were not playing tricks on him.  Hatano blinked at it, mouth dropping open in surprise.  Then he quickly put it back, his shock replaced by happiness.  This was a good thing, he knew.  A very good thing.

            He chose the movie _Ponyo_.  It looked like the most interesting of the Studio Ghibli movies in Kaminaga’s collection that he hadn’t seen before . . . even though _My Neighbor Totoro_ was so tempting.  Hatano loved that movie . . . well, maybe Kaminaga would let him watch it another day.  So, _Ponyo_ DVD in hand, Hatano scurried back to the lounge, hoping that he hadn’t taken too long and made Kaminaga wary about him being nosy.  More people had arrived while he was gone, Hatano saw as soon as he returned.  Miyoshi had showed up.  And Tazaki too.  Kaminaga had made popcorn accordingly.

            “I hope you don’t mind us crashing,” said Miyoshi.  “But I thought a movie night sounded like fun.”

            “Me too,” said Tazaki.  “That alright with you, Hatano?”

            “Of course,” Hatano said, and handed Ponyo to Kaminaga.  “Is it alright if we watch this one?”

            “Yep!” Kaminaga took the DVD and went to put it in the player.

            “I didn’t know you and Kaminaga were married,” Hatano told Tazaki as he hopped up beside him on the sofa.  Tazaki had been taking a drink of iced tea.  He choked on it then clamped a hand over his mouth.  Kaminaga froze in the process of putting the DVD into the player.  Miyoshi looked at the lot of them with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.

            “What?  Where did you  . . . why do you think we’re married, Hatano?” asked Tazaki, wiping up the tea droplets around his mouth with his sleeve.

            “Why indeed?” asked Miyoshi, looking like Christmas had come early.

            “I saw your wedding picture,” said Hatano.  “On the shelf with all the DVDs.”

            “Oh?” Miyoshi started grinning.  Hatano didn’t know why.

            Tazaki looked floored.  “And you recognized me?”

            “Well, yes,” said Hatano.  He was a little confused by why they were all acting like this.  Was he not supposed to have looked at the picture?  But it was on the shelf with the DVDs, Kaminaga had to know he would see it.  Well, at least Kaminaga didn’t look angry.  Just an odd combination of embarrassed and amused.

            “So.  The two of you eloped,” said Miyoshi.  “You should have told me.  I’d have sent a gift.”

            “It’s not legally binding.  We were just fooling around, that first time Tazaki did his cross dressing training,” said Kaminaga quickly.

            “It is definitely not legally binding,” agreed Tazaki.  “We used throwaway pseudonyms and fake IDs to get the marriage license.”

            Miyoshi waved a hand, dismissively.  “Never mind that.  What really matters is, was the marriage consummated?”

            “Miyoshi,” Tazaki groaned, motioning sharply toward Hatano.

            Kaminaga just laughed and shook his head.

            Hatano tilted his head to one side, trying to puzzle out what was going on, and what all the big, unfamiliar words and phrases they were throwing around meant.  But they weren’t familiar to him at all, so he figured that he’d better ask, or else he’d never know.  “What does a marriage consummated mean?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: This chapter was written as a gift for Aoi_Kitsukawa who requested something from Tazaki’s early days at D-Agency, where he and Kaminaga got mistaken as a couple, while Tazaki was dressed as a girl.  Possibly with an old granny telling Kaminaga he should marry Tazaki.  And with some possible misunderstanding by kid!Hatano, later on.  (That last part was the most fun part for me to write.  By now everyone knows I love Hatano.  And kid!Hatano bonding with his new family is my aesthetic.)  I hope this chapter lives up to your hopes, Aoi.  And please know that Miyoshi, who now has a wonderful new reason to make fun of Kaminaga and Tazaki, thanks you for it. :)

 

And a bit of background info for non-Americans who are unfamiliar with Vegas: Las Vegas is a popular wedding destination for people who like things fast and flashy, and for people who want to elope.  And then there are a lot of people who, once they get there, spontaneously decide to get married just because they can, or because they’re drunk.  It’s ridiculously easy to get married in Las Vegas, and there are a lot of venues that’ll marry you fast and cheap.  There are even drive through wedding venues.  Yes, that’s really a thing.  (But Kaminaga probably took Tazaki to one of those five minute marriage chapels, for their wedding.  Because his waifu is a nice girl who wanted to be married in a church.) :P

 

Final note: Marriages are only legally binding when the legal names and signatures of both parties are used.  So, Tazaki and Kaminaga are not legally married.  (Sorry?)  But as Miyoshi said, that’s not the issue that really matters . . . lol. 


	27. The Marmite Incident

Set several months after D-Agency takes Hatano in.  Featuring kid!Hatano and dead!Kaminaga.

Pre-series.  Post _Hatano’s Origin_.  Post _God Is In The Rain._

 

(And since there are probably plenty of people who don't know this, marmite is a food spread made of yeast extract, with a very strong flavor.  Many people like it.  But many people also hate it.)

 

 

 

           “Hatano!  I’ve got something for you,” said Kaminaga as he entered the lounge where Hatano was studying.

            Hatano instantly perked up, as he always did at the prospect of a present.  Or food, as the case now was.  And Kaminaga couldn’t keep an adoring smile off his face, because really, Hatano was the cutest thing.  Something like pride surged through him, as he noticed how Hatano had gained a little weight over the past few months.  That was a very good thing, considering that Hatano had been just skin and bones when they took him in.  They’d done their very best to stuff him and fatten him up, but Hatano’s stomach proved to be _tiny_.  Shrunken from years of near starvation, or so the medical books Fukumoto bought, that Kaminaga had snagged a look at, said.  More than that, Hatano didn’t stuff himself.  Something that Kaminaga found bizarre and contrary to what severely malnourished children were expected to do.  But apparently, his first night with Jitsui, he’d choked while trying to scarf down as much food as he could, and had taken the lesson to heart.  At mealtimes he now always ate very carefully, so as not to get anything stuck in his throat, and also didn’t eat in excess, which made it harder for them to put some meat on his bones.

            Kaminaga, and all the others, countered by tempting him with snacks throughout the day.  Hatano never turned down anything they gave him.  His eyes always, always lit up, no matter what it was they were presenting him with.  And one thing they’d learned, to get around the meagre portions Hatano served himself, was that Hatano wouldn’t leave any food on his plate.  So as long as they served him they could get more calories in him.

            And right now, Kaminaga was conducting an experiment.  So far, Hatano hadn’t turned down any food they’d given him.  Nothing at all.  He clearly favored Japanese foods, and absolutely loved rice, and anything he could put soy sauce on, but would eat anything, from coleslaw to carpaccio.  He hadn’t even turned up his nose at the box of caramel coated crickets Kaminaga gave him as another experiment, or the lollypop with the tequila worm clearly visible inside the candy.  So Kaminaga had been forced to search for something else to see if he could get Hatano to turn down food.  It had taken a bit of creativity, but finally Kaminaga thought up a good candidate.  Marmite.  A strong smelling, tar-like sandwich spread from across the pond.  As the slogan said, you either loved it or hated it.

            “What is it?” asked Hatano, craning his head to look at the plate full of marmite covered crackers Kaminaga had made for him. 

            “A snack for while you study,” said Kaminaga.  “Marmite on crackers.  Go on.  Try one.”

            Hatano needed no second invitation.  He reached out eagerly for a cracker.  Then remembered his manners and smiled sweetly at Kaminaga.  “Thank you, Kaminaga,” he said, so innocently that Kaminaga actually felt bad for a minute.  Hatano trusted him completely.

            He saw it the moment that the marmite touched Hatano’s tongue.  The kid’s eyes bulged and his face contorted. 

            Finally, Kaminaga thought, hiding a smirk.  A food he doesn’t like.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked out loud.  “You don’t like it?”

            Hatano’s face continued to twist, as he chewed the cracker and swallowed it quickly.  More quickly than Kaminaga had seen him down anything before.  Since the choking incident, he seemed very intent on chewing his food well, so as not to have a repeat performance.  Then, when his mouth was clear, Hatano met Kaminaga’s eyes.  And flat out lied.  “I like it!” he insisted.  “I like it a lot!”

            Kaminaga had to struggle not to laugh.  “Are you sure?  You didn’t look like you liked it –”

            “I liked it!” insisted Hatano.  “Thank you Kaminaga.”  With that, he took the plate.

            “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” said Kaminaga.

            “I like it!” Hatano repeated. 

            “Hatano . . . I could tell you didn’t like it.  Please don’t feel like you have to eat it,” said Kaminaga.

            “I like it!” Hatano insisted, and shoved another marmite covered cracker into his mouth.  His face contorted the exact same way, like he was eating something completely disgusting.  And his eyes watered a little bit as he grimaced and chewed quickly so he wouldn’t have to taste it any longer than necessary. 

            “Kid . . .” Kaminaga sighed.  “You don’t like it.  Give it here.”

            “No!  It’s mine!” Hatano shoved another cracker into his mouth, and his face twisted up all over again.

            “You don’t like it.  You don’t need to eat it –”

            Kaminaga was interrupted by Hatano hunching over the plate and growling like an animal.  Suddenly wary, Kaminaga took a step back.  He’d seen Hatano when they first found him, right after Jitsui let him out of his cage.  The way Hatano was right now reminded Kaminaga strongly of that.  Hatano was giving off the vibes of a wild animal.  Feral and scared, but more than ready to lash out at anyone who tried to hurt him . . . or take what was his.  A distant memory flitted through Kaminaga’s mind right then.  His mother warning him never to take food from an animal, even if it was domesticated.  Especially not as a joke.

            “Whoa,” Kaminaga said, holding his hands up in surrender.  “Alright.  It’s yours.  I’m not going to steal it.”

            Hatano didn’t look convinced.  He relocated to the other side of the sprawl of papers and books on the floor, and set the plate down, off to the side, well out of Kaminaga’s reach.

            “But you’re not going to make me believe you actually like that stuff,” said Kaminaga.

            “I like it,” insisted Hatano. 

            “You make a face like you want to throw up every time you taste it,” said Kaminaga.  “Look, it’s alright not to like marmite.  A lot of people don’t like it.  Their advertising slogan is ‘Love it or hate it.’”

            “I like it.”

            “You’re a little liar,” Kaminaga said as gently as he could.  “And you don’t have to like it.  I won’t be mad.”

            “You gave it to me.  It’s mine now.”

            This conversation was going nowhere fast.  Kaminaga wondered if it might be better to throw in the towel and just let the kid eat it.  “Alright.  You win.  It’s yours.”

            “Mine,” Hatano agreed determinedly.  The effect was ruined when he shoved another marmite covered cracker into his mouth and nearly gagged. 

            Kaminaga covered his face with one hand and shook his head.  He . . . had not anticipated this going like this.  Then he sighed in resignation and sat down on the couch.  Since he’d set this in motion, he needed to see it through to the end.  That way if something happened . . . he’d have time to make his own funeral arrangements before Jitsui finished him off. 

            Hatano hadn’t forgotten how Kaminaga had tried to take the marmite crackers back, and kept a wary eye on him, as he continued to simultaneously eat them and study.  And he continued to grimace horribly every time the marmite touched his tongue.  After a few more crackers, Hatano’s face took on a greenish tinge, and the twisted look stopped leaving his face after he swallowed the marmite down.  His eyes were tearing up, like he’d taken a bite out of an onion or something, and Kaminaga couldn’t stand to watch this anymore.

            “Hatano,” he tried again.  “You really don’t have to eat those.  It’s alright to throw them away.”

            The look Hatano gave him was one of horror.  Kaminaga mentally winced.  That had been the exact wrong thing to say to someone who’d spent so long on the brink of starving.  Hatano didn’t even bother answering.  He picked up his plate and took them to the other side of the room, abandoning his homework to better guard his marmite slathered crackers.  And Kaminaga then regretted filling such a big plate.  He’d been trying to be funny, but now he saw the idea had been poorly executed.  Hatano hadn’t even finished a quarter of the crackers yet.  And now, Kaminaga was very worried that the kid was going to make himself sick if he kept going.  And he would keep going. 

            Kaminaga sighed and pulled out his phone, realizing that he needed to face the music.  There was only one person who had a chance of getting Hatano to give up that plate.  And Jitsui was not going to be happy when he found out what was going on.

            “Hatano?  Hatano, what’s wrong!”

            Crap.  Jitsui had arrived on his own, giving Kaminaga no chance to get ahead of this.  And this was exactly how Kaminaga hadn’t wanted Jitsui to find out about this situation.  By seeing Hatano looking sick and green, as he guarded his plate of crackers with deranged possessiveness.

            “Jitsui . . .” Hatano looked up at his guardian with big eyes.

            “Are you sick?” asked Jitsui, dropping down beside him, pressing a hand to his forehead to check for a fever.  “What feels bad?  Do you want – _what is that?”_

            Kaminaga groaned out loud as Jitsui saw the plate.

            “It’s mine,” Hatano said desperately, moving the plate even out of Jitsui’s reach.  “Kaminaga gave it to me.”

            “Did he now?” Jitsui sent a look toward Kaminaga that promised retribution. 

            “I like them,” said Hatano miserably, forcing himself to eat another marmite cracker.  “They’re good.”  The expression on his face showed clearly that he was lying.

            “Oh Hatano . . .”

            “Jitsui?” Kaminaga decided to at least try to explain himself.  “I didn’t know this would happen.  And I’m sorry.  I tried to take them back, but –”

            “You gave them to me, they’re mine!”

            “That,” Kaminaga said.

            The look Jitsui gave him was almost gentle.  “Are you stupid?” he asked, very softly.

            “Yes,” Kaminaga readily admitted.

            “Why did you fill a whole plate with them?  Even if he liked them, eating that many would give him a stomach ache,” said Jitsui, his eyes smoldering. 

            “I . . . I like them . . .” Hatano was having a harder time keeping up the lie now.  Some people believed marmite was an acquired taste.  But young Hatano was clearly not acquiring it.

            “I’m sorry,” said Kaminaga.  “I wasn’t thinking.  I didn’t think he’d actually be this dedicated to not throwing away food.”

            “Then you’re even more the fool,” said Odagiri, who had just come in.  The look he gave Kaminaga was one of disgust.  Then he left without another word.  Smart man.  Probably didn’t want to get involved in this mess of a situation, that was either going to end in some kind of tantrum from Hatano, or else with the kid actually getting sick, either from stuffing himself or from the taste of the marmite.

            Jitsui gave Kaminaga a poisonous look.  It was a promise that he’d be dealt with later.  Then he let his expression gentle and turned back to Hatano.  “If you eat that many, you’re going to have a stomach ache,” he said, putting a hand on Hatano’s head and patting his hair, like he was a puppy.  “Why don’t we wrap those up and put them away?”

            “Because Kaminaga might throw them away.”

            “He won’t,” Jitsui promised.  “No one will throw them away.  I won’t let them.  You can eat them later.  A few at a time.”

            “No.  Kaminaga wants to throw them away.”

            “I won’t let him.  I promise.”

            “They’ll go bad.  Crackers get soggy after you take them out of their packaging and put stuff on them.  I don’t want them to spoil.”

            “They won’t spoil.  They might get a little soft, but if we put them in the refrigerator, they won’t spoil, and you can eat them later,” said Jitsui.

            Hatano seemed to waver.  Then he shook his head.  Looking extremely miserable about it, but his mind was clearly made up.  “You want to throw them away too.  I can tell.  You’ll arrange for some of them to disappear.  Or you’ll scrape some of the stuff off them and throw that away.”

            Jitsui smoothed over his slightly guilty expression, trying to hide that yes, that was exactly what he had been planning.  “You can count them.  And we can weigh them.  I will go out and buy you a scale so we can weigh them, so you’ll know that no one scraped any of that . . . stuff off them.”

            Hatano still shook his head.  The boy was wise not to trust them.  But he looked so miserable that Kaminaga couldn’t help feeling horrible for creating this situation.

            “Hatano . . .” Jitsui clearly didn’t know what to do.

            “Hey, Hatano,” Odagiri had returned, holding an obscenely bright cardboard box.  “Want to trade?”

            Hatano looked up eagerly, seemingly very glad for a distraction.  “Trade?”

            “You know what that means, right?” asked Odagiri.  Every now and then they ran into a commonplace English word that wasn’t in Hatano’s vocabulary.  But it didn’t seem trade was one of them.

            “Equivalent exchange,” answered Hatano, seeming pleased with himself for knowing.

            “That’s right,” said Odagiri.  “I’ll give you a packet of Dinosaur Fruit Snacks for every marmite cracker you give me.”

            Hatano blinked.  Then shook his head.  “You’ll throw them away after they’re yours.”

            “I won’t,” said Odagiri.  “I don’t mind marmite.  Here, I’ll prove it.”  Odagiri opened up his brightly colored box of dinosaur fruit snacks.  Then he pulled one packet out, and held it out to Hatano.

            Hatano hesitated only a moment, then reached for it with one tiny hand.  Once his fingers had wrapped around it, he used his other hand to pick up a cracker and gave it to Odagiri.  Odagiri accepted it, then popped it in his mouth.  He chewed it at a normal speed.  His expression never changed.  At least not until after he swallowed the cracker.  Then he smiled at Hatano.

            “See?  I won’t let them go to waste.”

            Hatano’s resolve was cracking.  They could all see it.  But he still looked slightly worried.  But about something else now.

            “If you eat them all now, won’t you get a tummy ache too?” asked Hatano.

            “Not me,” said Odagiri.  “My tummy’s a lot bigger than yours.  This will make a nice pre-dinner snack for me.  And I won’t be too full for Fukumoto’s roast turkey.  Did he tell you he was roasting a turkey?”

            Hatano nodded slowly.

            “Have you ever had roast turkey before?  Not the pressed deli meat they call roast turkey, but actual real roasted turkey, right out of the oven, with gravy, and stuffing?”

            Hatano shook his head this time.

            “Well, you don’t want to miss out on it because you’re too full of something that I promise you is not as good as roast turkey,” said Odagiri.  “You can save the Dinosaur Fruit Snacks and eat them any time you like.”

            Hatano’s eyes were shining.  He was now looking at Odagiri like he was his savior or something.  Then Odagiri delivered the coup de grace.

            “And it looks like you have twenty-four crackers left.  Which is exactly how many packets of fruit snacks I have left in this box.  But, because I got the jumbo-sized box, it came with a free dinosaur hologram wristwatch,” said Odagiri, as he fished the prize out from amongst the packets of fruit snacks.  “I’ll give that to you too.  What do you say?  Trade?”

            Hatano’s eyes lit up at the sight of the watch.  _“Sutegosaurusu!”_

            “Hm?  Oh, yes.  It’s a stegosaurus.  So?  Do we have a deal?”

            “Deal,” Hatano finally agreed.

            And they shook on it.  Odagiri using the handshake to transfer the stegosaurus watch over to its new over.  Then he handed over the box of fruit snacks and accepted the plate of marmite covered crackers in exchange.

            “Thank you, Odagiri,” said Hatano, beaming.  He immediately started peeling the plastic wrapping off his new dinosaur watch, then turned to Jitsui to get help putting it on.  Jitsui obliged, smiling gently, then ruffled his hair.

            “Why don’t you go put your dinosaur snacks away, in your room?” asked Jitsui.

            “I can keep them there?” asked Hatano.

            “Yes.  Just make sure to brush your teeth after you eat them,” said Jitsui.  “Especially if it’s right before bed.”

            “I will!” Hatano promised, jumping up and dashing off.

            Jitsui turned to Odagiri, who was looking quite proud of himself.  “Thank you.”

            “And Fukumoto said buying kid food for him was detrimental,” Odagiri said smugly.

            Then they both twisted to look at Kaminaga in unison, and Kaminaga paled.  “I’ll, uh, go get you a container for those crackers.  To store them.  Yeah.  I’m going to do that.  Right now.”

            He fled to the kitchen.  Both to get the aforementioned container and because Fukumoto was there, making side dishes to go along with his roasted turkey.  He wouldn’t let anyone kill Kaminaga too badly.  Or so Kaminaga hoped.

            He was in luck.  Not only was Fukumoto there, but Miyoshi and Yuuki-san as well.  Miyoshi was actually deigning to help with kitchen work.  Yuuki . . . was reading over some papers, but had probably chosen to do so in the kitchen just because the roasting turkey smelled so incredible.  None of them really looked his way as he started slowly riffling through a cabinet, looking for an appropriate sized food storage container for Odagiri’s crackers.  Because Kaminaga knew that no matter what Odagiri had told Hatano, he was lying.  There was no way he was filling up on tripe like marmite when Fukumoto’s roast turkey was less than half an hour from coming out of the oven.

            It was only when Kaminaga went down hard that the three who had been in the kitchen previously bothered looking over, with varying degrees of interest, as Jitsui clung to Kaminaga’s back, pinning Kaminaga’s arms to his sides by wrapping his legs around them, and putting Kaminaga in a chokehold at the same time.

            “Oi,” Fukumoto protested.

            “Don’t mind them,” said Odagiri, as he quickly began feeding the marmite crackers into the garbage disposal.

            “But . . .”

            “Giving him a plate with over thirty marmite covered crackers on it?  What were you thinking?” demanded Jitsui, squeezing Kaminaga’s throat even tighter.

            “I . . . augha . . . screwed . . . up!”

            “Yes.  You did.  And if you want any of Fukumoto’s turkey, you’ll be eating it through a straw!”

            “By the way, if Hatano asks, you saw me eat those,” said Odagiri, as he finished destroying the evidence.

            “Gauh!  Miyosh . . . Fuku . . . help!” Kaminaga tried to plea.

            “Leave him,” ordered Yuuki, before either could get involved.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure he deserves it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: RIP Kaminaga.

(Jitsui took Kaminaga down the same way he took down Gamou in Double Joker.  And Odagiri's casual approval of this was what signified to all the others that Kaminaga is very deserving of this treatment.  Normally Odagiri is against violent shenanigans.  But Hatano is his kid brother too.)


	28. Because You're Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Hatano saved Miyoshi's life. And the day Miyoshi found out Hatano was using bar soap to wash his hair.

Set about half a year after D-Agency takes Hatano in.  Featuring kid!Hatano and vain!Miyoshi.

Pre-series.  Post _Hatano’s Origin_.  Post _The Marmite Incident._

 

 

           Miyoshi tried very hard not to get swept up in the excitement of suddenly having a kid around D-Agency.  He considered it akin to how households were when a family suddenly adopted a new pet.  Suddenly so many things revolved around said new pet that it could be nauseating.  Make no mistake, he didn’t begrudge Hatano anything.  The kid had saved Jitsui’s life.  And more than that, it was very possible he’d saved Jitsui’s soul.  Miyoshi could see that something in the kid had spoken to Jitsui in a way that had gotten through to him, in a way nothing Miyoshi or anyone else from D-Agency said had ever gotten through to Jitsui.  There had been a part of Jitusi that had been broken as long as Miyoshi had known him.  And from the looks of things so far, Hatano was exactly what Jitsui had needed to fix himself. 

            Miyoshi would even go so far as to say that he genuinely liked Hatano.  The kid had a near genius level IQ.  His old school transcripts, that Jitsui had dug up, showed he’d been in his second year of high school when his life had fallen apart.  A sophomore at age eight.  Added to his intellect was his amazing adaptability.  His ability to instantly recognize who was on his side, and how to behave in this strange new world he found himself in made things so much easier for everyone at D-Agency.  More than that, once he looked old enough to work on the casino floor without eyebrows being raised because of his youth, and once he had adapted to his newfound freedom, melded with the rest of the inner circle, and was socially adjusted enough that they were fairly certain he could follow orders without someone there to hold his hand, Miyoshi knew he’d be a great asset to their organization.  His fighting skills were breathtaking.

            But even beyond that . . . Miyoshi didn’t just like Hatano for what he had to offer.  Something about the kid spoke to him too.  He was a cute kid.  A sweet kid.  He hadn’t deserved even a fraction of the shit life had thrown at him.  After what he’d lived through . . . Miyoshi couldn’t help but want to try to protect him.  He would protect Hatano, if it came to it.  Physically, legally, or however else he needed to be defended.  And if asked, he wouldn’t deny it.

            But all the same, Miyoshi tried not to get caught up in spoiling the kid, and constantly doting on him the way the others all had.  A part of him did want to.  A rather large part, actually.  But he would be leading D-Agency one day.  He needed to try to be dignified, like Yuuki-san, and stay removed from the doting, and coddling, and not broadcast to everyone that he suddenly had a new weakness.  But he couldn’t deny to himself that he was jealous, watching as the others all did whatever they wanted with the kid.

            Jitsui was the worst.  Or perhaps the best.  He was the one who’d decided they were keeping Hatano.  And while at first, it seemed like he was approaching it the way someone might very spontaneously decide to adopt a puppy, Miyoshi quickly realized that wasn’t really the case.  Jitsui may have made the decision to bring Hatano back with them on the fly, but he was anything but careless about deciding how to proceed from there.  The care he took to clothe the kid alone showed as much.  And how he’d completely cleared his schedule for two weeks to spend time with him, fix a room up for him, arrange for tutors for him, and a multitude of other things had showed just how serious he was taking this.  Though to Miyoshi, just the room he’d put together for Hatano would have been enough to convince him.  Miyoshi knew how Jitsui felt about his books.  Seeing the care he’d taken to fill a whole shelf full of titles that a young teen might enjoy, from his own collection, spoke more of his devotion to his new charge than mere words could, in Miyoshi’s opinion.  Then there were all the day to day ways he doted on Hatano.  Going on long walks, up and down the Strip with him in the mornings, or evenings, when it wasn’t too hot, or taking him to parks when once it had been a minor war simply to get him to do any sort of training that didn’t involve guns.  Just because Hatano loved going outside.  And the way Jitsui suddenly went from living off takeout and microwave meals if they would let him, to being super focused on proper nutrition, because Hatano was so malnourished.

            Feeding up the kid was a bandwagon that all the others jumped on, just like giving him little (and not so little) gifts.  But the gifts were a whole dozen other stories.  Trying to get him up to a proper weight was a mission.  Miyoshi noticed when Fukumoto switched from buying skim milk to whole milk, for the extra fat, calories, and vitamins in it.  And it escaped no one’s notice that Fukumoto would slip him snacks every chance he got.  Hatano had an open invitation to do his homework in Fukumoto’s bar, so that Fukumoto could ply him with virgin banana daiquiris, and snack plates that had been altered to be healthier than the bar’s normal fare, like spinach and artichoke dip with pieces of carrots, broccoli, and peppers to dip in the rich, creamy, and rather unhealthy dip instead of the customary tortilla chips.  For down on Sublevel D, Fukumoto had bought himself half a shelf full of books on child nutrition, in his determination to get Hatano healthy.  And he waged a constant war against Odagiri, who insisted Hatano needed “kid food” like pizza rolls and Lunchables.  Amari and Tazaki were constantly slipping Hatano treats, whenever they could, but mostly stayed out of debates about meals.  While Kaminaga alternated between trying to find a food that the kid wouldn’t eat (at least until the marmite incident which Jitsui nearly killed him for) and insisting that full meal substitute energy bars were perfectly acceptable as a light snack. 

            Despite everyone’s best efforts, Hatano was slow to put on weight.  To all their frustration, though they tried not to let it show, Hatano was very careful about not eating too much, or eating too fast.  In a way, Miyoshi knew it made sense.  Hatano’s amazing survival instinct was overriding that initial instinct of any starving person, to shove as much food into their mouth as fast as they could.  Jitsui had told them how Hatano had started choking his first night at D-Agency, after trying to do just that.  And so he had learned better.  Which made it harder for them to get enough weight on him so that he no longer looked like a starving waif.  But in a way, that helped Miyoshi feel a little easier, knowing they didn’t have to worry about him wolfing down something when they weren’t around, and start choking on it where they couldn’t help him.

            But little by little, Hatano started becoming visibly healthier.  His bones became less visible under his skin, as he got enough calories in him to build up actual muscles.  His skin lost that pale, almost bluish pallor that being locked away from the sun had caused, and soon had a sunkissed golden glow to it.  His nails started growing stronger, nice, and pink, and with a slight natural sheen to them, and without anymore white spots or brittleness from nutrient deficiencies.

            But one thing that continued to cause Miyoshi concern was Hatano’s hair.  The kid’s hair was dull as dishwater.  Even after a couple months in D-Agency’s care, after all the other visible problems to his health were fixed, or at least on the mend, Hatano’s hair remained lifeless and lank.  Which made no sense.

            Some of the others were probably less concerned because they knew that hair was made of dead cells.  But that didn’t mean that what you did to your hair even after it was grown out couldn’t affect how healthy it looked.  After all, scalp care went hand in hand with hair care.  And it was really the oils from the skin beneath your hair that affected their shine, more than the state of your health while your hair was growing out. 

            Miyoshi tried a subtle approach to correcting the problem, at first.  He requested from Fukumoto some dishes that he knew promoted healthy hair, when you ate them.  Like salmon.  And lentils.  He even deigned to put almond butter on their grocery shopping list.  Because he couldn’t bring himself to actually request peanut butter, though someone saw the almond butter and decided peanut butter would be good to have on hand with a kid around too, so that also got added to the list.  Then, when that failed to produce results, Miyoshi started trying some not so subtle tactics.  Like telling Fukumoto he thought Hatano would benefit from the occasional avocado in his diet. 

            But that didn’t work either, and Miyoshi found himself at a loss as to what to do next.  Taking the kid to a beautician or a hair care specialist, or even a hair salon wasn’t an option.  Hatano hated doctors to the point where they’d nearly had to sedate him in order to draw blood, the one and only time they took him to see one, when they’d run a battery of tests on him to make sure he had a clear bill of health, and no life threatening conditions or diseases.  And he considered scissors a weapon, and wouldn’t let anyone but Jitsui near him with a pair of them.  The only time they’d tried taking him to a salon, he’d refused to even sit in the chair, though he perched very, very close by while Jitsui got his own hair cut to show Hatano there was nothing to worry about.  Hatano hadn’t agreed, and had watched the stylist like a hawk the entire time, ready to use lethal force if he felt like Jitsui was threatened, occasionally growling like an animal in warning.  Needless to say, they’d never taken him back.  And they’d canceled the dentist appointment they’d made for him, to save themselves a lawsuit.

            He did wonder if the problem might just be something as simple as Hatano’s shampoo.  Because he’d snuck a look at Fukumoto’s child nutrition books, and then actually started paying pretty good attention to what they were feeding their kid, and everything added up to a very healthy diet.  Even with the extra sweets Amari and Tazaki kept throwing in, and Odagiri’s weird notions of kid food.  So one day, Miyoshi decided to do a little snooping, and learned that Hatano was using the same shampoo that most of the rest of them did.  Not the top shelf stuff Miyoshi indulged with on his own hair, but good, high end shampoo that had all the right things in it for a healthy scalp and healthy hair.  He didn’t seem to have any conditioner in his bathroom, but that technically shouldn’t have been necessary.  But Miyoshi figured that it wouldn’t hurt to give conditioner a try.  It would be nice if the problem could be fixed by something so simple.  But he realized that he was going to have to take a more active role in trying to fix the problem this time.  If he just suggested to someone that they should give Hatano a bottle of hair conditioner, he’d just look stupid, and the others would all start making jokes about how he was a tsundere.  He’d be teased less for simply giving in and giving Hatano a bottle of conditioner.  Which, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind doing at all.  He would have liked to have given Hatano other things too.  He hadn’t missed how the kid’s whole face would light up at any little present, and he would have liked seeing that look directed at himself now and then.  But for the sake of maintaining a dignified air, he’d always resisted, at least until now. 

            On his way out of Hatano’s room, Miyoshi got caught.  Hatano must have finished one of his online tutoring sessions early, because he came bounding into his room, doing an adorable little half skip, half run thing, carrying an armful of books and the laptop Jitsui gave him.  He nearly crashed into Miyoshi, who he understandably didn’t expect to be exiting his room, but his amazing reflexes let him stop short just in time.  He ended up toe to toe with Miyoshi, just shy of the two of them actually touching, and a bright smile lit his face.

            “Hi,” Hatano said, as though it was no strange thing suddenly finding Miyoshi in his room.

            That, like many little things Hatano said or did, sent a stab of pity through Miyoshi.  Because that wasn’t normal.  He should be confused or curious, or even mad to find someone in his room without his permission.  But instead he acted like there was nothing wrong or unusual about it.  Like he didn’t have a right to expect privacy or have his own personal space and that, that was just sad.

            “I’m sorry I entered your room without your permission,” said Miyoshi, because he hoped to sow the seeds in Hatano’s mind that even Miyoshi _should_ be asking to go into his room.  “I heard your lesson ended early, so I was looking for you.”

            “For me?”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi, lying easily even though he was making up his plan as he went along.  “Do you like ramen Hatano?”

            Hatano’s eyes lit up.  “Ramen.  Yes.  _Daisuki!”_

            “So do I,” admitted Miyoshi.  Something he’d adamantly kept to himself until that moment.  Sure, some of the others knew, or suspected, but he refused to admit it because liking something as base as ramen just seemed so . . . so pedantic.  “Don’t tell any of the others, but ramen is my guilty pleasure, and I’m craving it right now.  How do you feel about an early dinner?”

            “Yes,” Hatano said enthusiastically.  “Are we going to make the ramen?  Or –”

            “We’re going to the best ramen shop in the state,” Miyoshi told him.  “You’ll swear you’re in Tokyo, this ramen is so good.”

            “Um . . . Jitsui wanted me to call him if I leave the hotel,” Hatano said quickly, looking a little nervous.  “Do I –”

            “Go ahead then,” said Miyoshi, kindly.  “Just tell him I’m taking you out for dinner.  If he asks where, I haven’t told you.  If he asks what kind of cuisine, just say Japanese.”

            Hatano nodded, then got out his phone.  After a short conversation he turned a megawatt smile on Miyoshi.  “I was worried Jitsui might be upset I wasn’t eating with him.  But he says he and I will have dessert and hot chocolate tonight.”

            “You’ll have hot chocolate.  Jitsui will have more coffee,” said Miyoshi.

            “Yes.  Probably,” Hatano agreed cheerfully.

            “Come along then,” said Miyoshi.  “Let’s get some ramen.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Miyoshi rarely left D-Agency without the company of at least one other member of their inner circle.  Usually Odagiri, Fukumoto, or Kaminaga.  But on the uncommon occasions when he did, he either snuck out undercover, or took along several other members of the security team.  The exception was when he went out to indulge in ramen.  Then he only took one guard, and the same one every time.  A man named Kraven, whose discretion Miyoshi trusted.  At least Miyoshi had thought him trustworthy.  But it turned out that trust had been a mistake.  Miyoshi realized this shortly before he found himself in the back alley behind Ramen-topia.

            When they first arrived at the restaurant, everything seemed normal.  Taki, the owner, greeted Miyoshi with her usual mix of warmth and wariness.  Smart woman, in Miyoshi’s opinion.  She knew exactly who he was, and that most of the rumors about D-Agency were true, but she found herself charmed by him despite them all.  If she had genuinely not wanted Miyoshi there, Miyoshi would have stopped coming around, even though she made the best ramen he’d ever had.  Far be it from him to make a woman uncomfortable.  But despite her understandable wariness, she tolerated Miyoshi, and so he did his best not to make any trouble for her and tipped well.

            “Who’s this?” Taki asked, looking at Hatano with some surprise.  Miyoshi had only ever brought the one bodyguard with him.  Never any of the other members of D-Agency, out of respect for Taki’s wariness of mafiosos.  But Hatano was so young, Miyoshi didn’t think he really counted.

            “This is Hatano,” Miyoshi introduced the kid to her.  “He’s been adopted by a few of my compatriots, and lives with us at D-Agency.”

            “Hello,” Hatano said, looking a little shy.

            As Miyoshi had expected, Hatano was young enough to come across as harmless even if he was living with a mafia outfit, and Taki looked charmed rather than more wary.

            “Hello there,” said Taki, smiling dotingly at him.  “What can I get for you today?”

            Hatano looked at Miyoshi, like he was asking permission, and when Miyoshi gave him an encouraging nod, asked, “Do you have salt ramen?”

            “I sure do.”

            “And can I have an egg on it?” Hatano asked hopefully.

            “Certainly.  And for you?” Taki asked Miyoshi.

            “Miso ramen, if you please,” said Miyoshi.

            “Uh, boss?  Do you mind if I step outside for a minute?” Kraven interrupted, fiddling with his phone.  “I – er, there’s this family thing –”

            Miyoshi excused him with a wave of his hand.  He didn’t believe he was in any danger in the ramen shop.  It was a small place, little more than a hole in the wall, and very few people knew that he came here.  Plus, he never came here on any sort of regular schedule.  Miyoshi had no reason to believe any harm would come to him while he was here.  Bringing a bodyguard at all was only a precaution and to keep his father placated.

            So Kraven went outside, while Miyoshi and Hatano stayed at the counter, and Hatano spun around on his spinning bar stool, chattering happily to Miyoshi about his lessons, and how Jitsui had gotten permission from Yuuki-san to turn the roof of the casino into a private garden just for D-Agency, and how Jitsui ordered a lot of books about desert gardening that they were waiting for to come in.  Several minutes passed.  Kraven did not return.  Hatano asked to be excused so he could go to the restroom after he finished telling Miyoshi about their gardening plans, and of course Miyoshi let him.  A minute later, he was very glad he had.

            Some people you know are trouble as soon as they walk into the room.  And that was the case for the men who entered the ramen shop only moments after the bathroom door shut behind Hatano.  It wasn’t just that they looked like the stereo-typical mafia enforcers, right down to their Mediterranean features, but the way they carried themselves, and the jackets that they wearing in the desert heat.  Jackets with bulges beneath them in just the right places for guns.

            One came up to Miyoshi, and sat down next to him.  The other hovered near the door, his hand inside his jacket, ready to draw.

            “Is this the part where I ask what this is about?” asked Miyoshi, though he had already done the math in his head.  He knew of half a dozen lesser mafia groups that were itching to move in on D-Agency’s territory.  But only one stupid enough to think that assassinating the heir to D-Agency would be a good place to start.  The Florentinnis were lacking in the brains department.  Moreover, Miyoshi had also deduced that Kraven had sold him out.  Of his own volition.  No one outside of the inner circle knew that Miyoshi used Kraven exclusively when he ducked out of the casino.  Kraven therefore had to have given that information up voluntarily to their enemies.  Idiot.  All of D-Agency would know of his betrayal less than ten minutes after news of Miyoshi’s death reached them.  And with Jitsui heading the search, Kraven wouldn’t last a day.  And Jitsui would head the search.  Because Kraven had endangered Hatano as well.  It was only dumb luck that Hatano wasn’t here for this now.  Not that Miyoshi thought Hatano getting out of this unscathed would save Kraven from being tortured to death as slowly as Jitsui could contrive.  D-Agency’s resident sadist had expressed interest in testing out the death of a thousand cuts . . .

            “Come outside quietly, and we’ll make it quick,” said the man seated next to Miyoshi.  “Raise a fuss and I’ll kill everyone in the joint.”

            This was not the ideal place to make a stand.  The other gunman was too far away.  Miyoshi was sure he could kill the one beside him, but knew he’d be gunned down by the other long before he could deal with him.  So Miyoshi stood, and walked toward the door, careful not to make eye contact with Taki, which could make them think Miyoshi had some kind of connection to her.  Doubtless she knew something was very wrong, but Miyoshi didn’t want the Florentinnis thinking she would do something about it.

            Miyoshi had to hand it to the thugs.  They were careful.  The man who’d been sitting by him didn’t get up and follow him immediately, but let Miyoshi put some space between them.  And the one at the door stepped out and away from the door before Miyoshi reached it.  He knew that the gun was being trained on him beneath the man’s jacket as soon as he stepped outside, in case he tried to run.

            “Toward the alley,” the door man told him.  “Unless you want us shooting your right here in the street.”

            “That would be a bigger problem for you than for me,” Miyoshi pointed out, but complied.  He walked slowly, searching for a way out of this.  Looking for any solution.  Playing for time was often the best option.  Now . . . it probably was as well.  Hatano would be getting out of the bathroom soon.  He was an unknown factor in this equation.  Miyoshi didn’t know if he would even think to look for him or realize something was wrong.  Most likely Taki would try to protect him somehow and keep him from coming outside.  Which might or might not encourage Hatano to come outside anyway.  Miyoshi didn’t know what Hatano would do if he saw Miyoshi in this situation.  He and Hatano weren’t particularly close.  If it was Jitsui being held at gunpoint, Hatano would almost certainly do his best to tear the gunmen to pieces with his bare hands.  But Miyoshi had deliberately been distant with Hatano most of the time.  He had no reason to think Hatano would show the same protective instincts toward him.  And . . . there was a part of Miyoshi, much to his surprise, that didn’t want that anyway.  A part of him that hoped Taki hid Hatano in the safe room and called the police.  That would probably be for the best.  Miyoshi would find his own way out of this mess.

            “Gentlemen, what exactly do you hope to accomplish by assassinating me?” Miyoshi asked, once they here out of sight of the street.  He started to turn around.

            “Don’t move.  Don’t turn around,” ordered the first man.  “Get down on your knees.”

            “You really going to think we’re going to stand around monologuing?” asked the second.  “What do you think we are, comic book villains?”

            “No.  You’re not that smart,” said Miyoshi.

            “Says the man with two guns pointed at his head.”

            “Do you think killing me will strike a blow to D-Agency?” asked Miyoshi.  “It won’t.”

            “You’re the old man’s heir.”

            “First in the line of succession, yes,” said Miyoshi.  “But not the only in the line of succession.”  Which was very true.  He and Yuuki had made contingency plans.  Jitsui was next in line, though he didn’t know it.  “I’m sure you’ve heard the saying ‘Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.’  Let me tell you a few things about the devil you don’t know.  He’s a sadist.  His first order of business will be wiping you out with a combination of low blows and ruthless swipes.  And he will go after the two of you personally.  It won’t matter that you were just following orders.”

            “He doesn’t scare us, and neither do you.”

            “He should scare you.  He scares me,” said Miyoshi.  “And he loves me.  I can’t completely anticipate what he’ll do on a normal day, let alone what he’ll do to you if you kill me, but . . . I imagine he’ll target your children, and your wives first.”  That wasn’t outside the realms of what Jitsui might do for revenge.  Kaminaga might draw the line at killing children.  Miyoshi had no proof or reason to think Jitsui would draw the line at anything when it came to revenge.  And he would want revenge.  Because Jitsui had come to see the rest of D-Agency as family.  If someone took one of them from him, he would lash out as much from pain as because it was necessary.  He would do everything he could to make the people who took one of them from him feel the same pain that he was feeling.  “And you know, if he can manage it, he’ll even . . . well, have you ever seen the play Titus Andro –”

            The pistol whipped against the back of his head without warning.  Miyoshi hadn’t even heard the man approach.  He staggered and instinctively turned, just in time to take a fist to the cheekbone.

            “Threaten my family- Ahhhhh!”

            “Mrph!”

            Then there were sounds the likes of which Miyoshi had never actually heard before.  The two pained cries not counting.  He couldn’t actually see what was happening.  His vision had exploded with stars when the pistol cracked against his head.  But there were thuds, similar to the sound of meat being pounded with a cooking hammer to tenderize it, all in very fast succession.  And then there were cracks, like someone snapping popsicle sticks in half.  And then there was this splattering sound.  Miyoshi didn’t even know what to compare that to.  It was all very bizarre.  And then . . .

            “Miyoshi?  Miyoshi, are you alright?”

            Miyoshi blinked very quickly, trying to clear away the stars from his vision.  He knew that voice . . .

            Two tiny hands gripped his arms.  And then Miyoshi could see enough to see a pair of wide chestnut eyes peering at him in concern.  “Miyoshi?  Can you hear me?”

            “Shimano,” Miyoshi said.  “I mean Hatano.  What –”

            “I beat them up!” Hatano sang.  “But I didn’t kill them.  Yuuki-san said not to kill people so that we can get information out of them.  And then kill them horribly at our own convenience to make other people think twice about trying to hurt us.  But if you want me to kill them for you right now, I will, and we don’t have to let Yuuki-san know.”

            “No,” said Miyoshi quickly.  “It’s better . . . better not to kill them right now, Hatano.”  He gripped Hatano’s arms back, for balance.  The tiny hands on arms had been the only thing keeping him up, Miyoshi realized.  He stumbled in place slightly, before managing to get his balance back.  Then he released Hatano.  And Hatano released him as well.

            “Alright.  I won’t kill them then.  I did just what you and Yuuki-san asked.”  Hatano had a hopeful look on his face.  “I did what you wanted, right?  I did good?”

            Miyoshi’s jaw nearly dropped.  And not just because he finally got a good look at the two guys, and but damn they were a mess.  Both of the doorman’s arms were broken in at least two places each.  Compound fractures, with the bones jutting out of his skin.  And his nose was splattered across his cheek in a bloody mess.  And the other . . . the other . . . his face . . . Miyoshi didn’t even know.  It looked like someone had taken a cooking hammer to his face and hit it.  Repeatedly.  If he didn’t have skull fractures, Miyoshi would go for a week without eye cream.  And Hatano did all this in less than fifteen seconds?

            “Didn’t I do good, Miyoshi?” Hatano pressed, hopefully.  Like a dog, wanting to be praised and scratched behind the ears.  Hatano wanted to be praised for saving Miyoshi’s life and mutilating these men.  And Miyoshi was happy to comply.

            He reached out with one hand, around to the back of Hatano’s head, and gave the back of his neck an encouraging squeeze . . . like his real father had done to him after a baseball game well played.  Then raised his hand up, cupping the back of Hatano’s head, internally wincing at how brittle and course this child’s hair felt.

            “Hatano,” Miyoshi said solemnly.  “You’re a good boy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            It was late when they got back to D-Agency.  Miyoshi, Hatano, Jitsui, Odagiri, and Fukumoto.  The other three had come when Miyoshi called.  Everything had been sorted.  The police, who Taki had called as Miyoshi had been removed from her restaurant, were handled.  Mafia Thugs One and Two taken to the hospital.  Which was fine.  They couldn’t tell Miyoshi much he didn’t already know.  The Flortentinni family was not long for this world.  Jitsui, Odagiri, and Fukumoto had come to meet them right after Miyoshi called them to let them know what was happening.  Normally it would have just been the enforcers who came, in case more protection was needed, but Jitsui had insisted on being there as well.  He fretted and fussed over Hatano the whole way home, as Hatano anxiously fished for compliments and basked in every bit of praise he was given.  It was, Miyoshi would privately admit, very adorable to watch.

            It was when they finally got back to Sublevel D that Miyoshi gave in and finally broached the subject that had been bothering him for weeks now.

            “Wait a moment please,” he requested, when Jitsui would have dragged Hatano to the kitchen for a meal made of the bounty of leftovers from the dinner Fukumoto had cooked for them last night.  Because even as leftovers, Fukumoto’s food was still delicious and nutritious.  And because Hatano never had gotten his promised ramen.  And now everyone knew for a fact that Miyoshi indulged in ramen, but that was something to worry about on another day.  “Hatano, there’s something we need to talk about.”

            Hatano looked at him quizzically.  Jitsui crossed his arms and fixed Miyoshi with a look as though daring him to criticize the boy for his actions that evening.

            “I think we need to switch your brand of shampoo,” Miyoshi said with no further hesitation.  Compared to his secret love of ramen, his affection for the kid was nothing to be embarrassed about at all.

            “Shampoo?” Hatano asked.  He tilted his head a bit.  “What’s shampoo?”

            Miyoshi searched his mind for the Japanese word for it.  Jitsui beat him to it.

            _“Shanpu,”_ Jitsui supplied, which made Miyoshi frown.  Hatano was usually very good at working out borrowed words from English that had made it into the Japanese language.  He should have been able to puzzle that out on his own.  But even with the Japanese equivalent word given, Hatano still looked blank.

            Then Miyoshi remembered.  Hatano had been eight when he’d been enslaved.  When he’d been eight, Miyoshi remembered that most of his friends had barely bothered to use regular soap, let alone bother with any other personal hygiene products. 

            “Wait.  Wait,” Miyoshi realized.  “Have you been using shampoo, Hatano?”  He remembered the bottle in Hatano’s bathroom being full.  But now that he thought about it, that didn’t make sense.  Hatano hadn’t been with them long enough to go through a full bottle of shampoo, and need to replace his empty bottle with a full one. 

            “No,” Hatano answered, and suddenly everything became crystal clear.  “I’ve just been using the regular bar soap to clean my hair.”

            “Oh, Hatano, no,” Miyoshi groaned.  And Hatano looked alarmed as Miyoshi came forward and clamped his hands down on Hatano’s shoulder.  “You must never do that.  Never.  The bar soap strips all the healthy oils from your scalp and hair, and leaves it dull and brittle.”

            Over Hatano’s shoulder, Jitsui looked like he was on the verge of a giggling fit.  Miyoshi ignored him. 

            “Come with me.  We must fix this.  Immediately.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Hatano seemed a little apprehensive when Miyoshi took him to Sublevel D’s smaller, lesser used kitchen, and sat him up on a bar stool in front of the sink, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders to protect his clothes.

            “Are you going to cut my hair?” he asked, eyes flitting around as though looking for scissors.

            “No,” said Miyoshi.  He was content to let Jitsui be the only one near Hatano’s hair with the scissors.  Jitsui did a good job, and was the one least likely to get disarmed and stabbed with the scissors.  “I’m treating your hair with olive oil, to replace the oils you stripped and make it silky and shiny again.  Then I’m washing your hair with my shampoo and conditioner.  Then I’m giving you bottles of them to use.  And I expect you to use them.  No more washing your hair with bar soap, understand?”

            “Yes,” Hatano said meekly.

            “Good boy.”

            Hatano brightened a bit.  He sat still as Miyoshi poured about a teaspoon of olive oil into his own palm, rubbed his palms together, and then began massaging the oil into Hatano’s scalp.  He did tense a little bit at the contact, but didn’t move to attack Miyoshi, which was always a plus.  And before too long, he relaxed again, and sat still, letting Miyoshi work.  After Miyoshi finished massaging enough oil into Hatano’s scalp, he started running his fingers through the boy’s hair, finger combing it, so that the oil coated the strands.

            “Are you doing alright, Hatano?” asked Jitsui, who’d come along, probably both to make sure Hatano didn’t panic at being touched so much, and to watch Miyoshi struggling to maintain his dignity while showing affection toward their newly adopted puppy of a kid.  But now he was actually looking a little miffed and jealous, as Hatano relaxed into Miyoshi’s touch.

            “Yes,” said Hatano, sounding a bit sleepy.  “This feels . . . nice.”

            He remained placid as Miyoshi switched to shampoo, and lathered that into his hair, and obeyed docilely when Miyoshi told him to lean back, so he could use the kitchen sink’s hose attachment to wash the soap out.  Then Miyoshi finger combed a tablespoon of conditioner through Hatano’s hair, then rinsed that out too.

            “Finished?” asked Hatano, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

            “Almost,” said Miyoshi.  He started gently toweling off as much water as he could.  “I just need to blow dry your hair now.  You should never go to bed with wet hair.  Wet hair breaks so much easier than dry hair.  Which is very bad for your appearance.”

            “He’s not going to bed yet.  He still needs his dinner,” said Jitsui.  But looking at Hatano, Miyoshi could tell Jitsui was doubtful Hatano would stay awake that long.

            “It’s still best to get your hair dry as quickly as you can to avoid breakage,” said Miyoshi.  He retrieved the hairdryer from the cabinet he kept it in since, on occasion, he used this kitchen sink to dye his co-workers’ hair for missions, and it just made more sense to have a spare hairdryer around in case Miyoshi’s own ever broke. 

            Once Miyoshi finished drying Hatano’s hair, he removed the towel he’d wrapped around his shoulders, and helped the yawning boy off the high stool.  “From now on, you’re using the same kind of shampoo that I use,” Miyoshi told him solemnly.  “And the conditioner too.  No more using bar soap on your hair.  Alright?”

            “Mm,” Hatano agreed sleepily, then yawned, and Miyoshi felt like his heart was being squeezed.

            “Good,” said Miyoshi, and let his hand rest on Hatano’s shoulder for a moment, in one final show of affection.  Then he let it fall and twisted to look at Jitsui.  “Dinner, then bed for him, I think.  If he can stay awake for dinner.”

            “I’ll take care of him,” said Jitsui, wrapping an arm around his charge.

            “Please do.  He did good work today.”

            Hatano mumbled something in a mixture of English and Japanese about being a good boy, and let Jitsui steer him out of the second kitchen.

            “Aww, look at you,” said Kaminaga, stepping into the kitchen as soon as they were gone.  “Being all nice to the kid.  Even sharing your shampoo.”

            “I’ve never not been nice to him,” said Miyoshi, as he gave Kaminaga an unamused look.

            “True.  But there’s a difference between being nice to him and supplying him with your ridiculous two-hundred dollars a bottle hair care products.”

            “What can I say?” Miyoshi said with a slight shrug.  “The kid is worth it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: There’s a popular French shampoo and cosmetics company called L’Oreal, whose US advertising slogan is “Because you’re worth it.”  I’ve always thought that slogan was slightly narcissistic, lol.  So really, it’s perfect for Miyoshi. :P (Not that he’s using L’Oreal products.  His are some unspecified, ultra-exclusive brand that you’d find in a high end salon that wouldn’t be caught dead using supermarket brands on its customers.) (But that slogan is what inspired this side story’s name)

 

Sorry for the long wait since the last time I posted.  I’ve been working on another project, which actually just launched.  Please check it out if you have the time, especially if you’re another fanfiction writer, and you’ve ever thought of self publishing.  Or even if you just want to read some fun stories.  <https://fanfates.tumblr.com/>.

 

And a final note: the next arc will be Fukumoto’s Arc, and will be featuring Sakuma (and Miyoshi) more than Tazaki’s arc did.  In the last arc, everyone was recovering from the fallout of Hatano’s Arc, and Sakuma was left out of the heist because they were trying to respect his wishes and give him plausible deniability with his other bosses.  But next arc is going to bring about another change of pace.  And will have room for more Sakuma/Miyoshi interaction, as well as insight into Fukumoto’s reasons for being here.


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